


Time to Shine

by redhouseclan



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Battle of Five Armies, Beorn is a huge bunny, Cute Ori, Dragon Smaug, F/M, Fluff, Food Porn, Hair Kink, Hobbit House music, Human Smaug, Magic Revealed, Murder, Partying Elves, Past Child Abuse, Slow Burn, SmaugiBatch, Survival, Thorin Is an Idiot, assorted hobbits - Freeform, bit o lemon, mordor's top model, not cheesy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:25:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4700807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhouseclan/pseuds/redhouseclan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When 24 year old Aria flees from a cannibal killer she is transported to Middle Earth. Waking up to partying Hobbits, she meets a young Bilbo Baggins and discovers that sometimes life and fate turn the tables. When she is given the chance to save the line of Durin, Aria pledges to protect them with her life. Traveling w/13 dwarves, a hobbit, and a Wizard has never been more fun! </p>
<p>All rights to J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson<br/>OCs are my babies</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How to Drown 101

I never in my wildest dreams expected to end up in Middle Earth or as the locals keep reminding me Arda. Insert eyeroll, please. I mean as a recent fangirl of the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings trilogy I knew my expectations were going to be major in the ways of the land and travel. Ugh, remind me to tell Thorin about the wonders of the bicycle. The only transportation I know how to build, I mean come on me? Build a car? I am sooo not Tony Stark.

Anyway, as I was saying ending up in Middle Earth wasn’t _my_ idea. You have to ask Gandalf that, he told me all about how it was my destiny and all this talk about the Valar choosing me to save the line of Durin. Okay, okay, okay it was more of “Miss Aria * _strokes beard, Gandalf is such a diva_ * I do not know why the Valar has graced us with your presence though I am quite sure there is a reason you are here. Now _please_ stop bombarding me with odd questions of the going price of Old Toby!” Then he huffed and walked away, leaving me gagging on the remnants of his oh-so-precious-smoke-ring.

Let me start by telling you how I came to be known as the Walker in the Stars. Don’t laugh the hobbits gave me that name.

* * *

 

May 4 2014

3:30 AM

 

I’ve never been able to sleep, the doctors called it a case of extreme insomnia. So choosing instead of laying around re-reading books that I’ve read a thousand times or doing crazy experiments inside my tiny one bedroom apartment, I decided to go for walks around the park. I know, pretty crazy shit happens when the sun goes down and not necessarily for the better.

My birthday happens to be today, I will be 24 years old in approximately an hour and a half. I’m not much of a celebratory person, I never got the whole idea of holidays or birthdays. It’s mostly because I’ve never truly had a family or even the emotions to convey my acceptance of a gift. If I ever received one, of course. Gathering my usual gear and attire for my daily walk, I inspect my bag.

As usual I always carry my red Osprey backpack filled with: a first aid kit, two pocket knives, my little journal where I jot down random ideas, my sketch book, lots of sharpies, candy and craisins (I love those suckers), pocket microscope, rope, and multiple gadgets. I’m surprised my back held up this long. My mom once told me of this story where a woman’s car broke down in the middle of nowhere and she didn’t have any emergency gear. So she ended up surviving by drinking leaf water (how refreshing, not really, I mean only half a mouthful per leaf?) and eating bugs until the rescue services arrived 4 days later. Thus my OCD of always carrying my bag everywhere I go. After I locked my door my phone started to buzz.

“Hello?” No answer. “Sean if this is you I am soo going to spill soda all over your keyboard and eat all your Hotpockets,” I say with a grin.

“GAH!!!NOO!! Okay it’s me babydoll. I give, Uncle, you win, have mercy. All I ask is that you bury me with my hard drives and a nice pepperoni pie. Happy Birthday my most beautiful and clumsy friend!!!,” said the lanky somewhat taller version of Q from the Daniel Craig (drools) Bond movies.

“Ha-haha-aha, thanks Sean I appreciate it, you’re the only one to do so for the last 17 years. So what gives with the early bird call I was just on my way out?” I say while walking down the 20 billion flights of dilapidated stairs with a Hotpocket in hand. Gods I need to get a gym card or maybe not, eww germs. Finally stepping past the curbside facing towards the neighborhood park I huff for air 'Yes!!! Fresh polluted air!! For some odd reason I tend to hold my breath while walking.

“What? Out in this time of day? Dude have you not heard the news? It’s been all over the T.V., the web, the blogs, the forums, the pa-” I cut him off, “Slow down there papi. What news?” I admit to not being very fond of watching the news, I rather prefer to watch cartoons and Cinemax, err for Strikeback ya know?

"They said Tom Hiddleston is gay! Yay me!" A high pitched squeal threatens to burst my eardrum. 

" Umm Sean, sorry to say but he is not. He totes has the hots for Shakespeare (not that way) and pretty ladies. His ex was freaking Kat Dennings!" I profess a bit to let's say passionately. 

" Motherfucking NOO!! Really? Well, damn, there's one thing to trash on my To Do List. Besides Sexy Hips Hiddles, did you here the real news?" he ask.

"Nope, too boring. Just yesterday they reported a Taco Truck Turnover, not my kind of news, well it is but I need celeb news. All the deets!! So what's new? A flasher on Brook Ave.?" 

“There’s a guy running around town who escaped from the hospital, apparently he’s wanted for 7 murders. Dude, he totally slashed and ate them! So far police think he’s hiding out in the park near you,” Sean sounded really worried, he never has any other emotion besides hyperactive or starving.

“Umm…Sean you did say this park right? As in the one I’m standing in?” I ask stopping in the middle of the gravel pathway halfway through the park, choking down a piping hot piece of cheese. I am a pretty fast walker, but ask me to run I’ll choose to lie down. _Horizontal running, coach!!_

All quite on his end, I mean if a serial cannibal killer dude is all it takes to shut him up it’s my royal flush! My metaphors don’t make sense but then again I never do.

“Dude, I’m serious. I’m headed over right now. Get back to your apartment and lock the doors. Be careful and watch where you’re going,” he warns me with the tone of an older brother. Sean has been my best friend ever since I could remember our mutual love of action movies and Hotpockets. Hence, his job as a security programmer for businesses, hello Hotpocket money!!! Yes, even in the midst of terrifying danger I declare my love for the delectable bundles of cheesy pepperoni goodness.

“Okay…hmm...well…that is bad. I guess I’d better haul ass home. Don’t waste my cell minutes by yapping at my sleep disordered mind,” I say backtracking my way home. “And make me another cheesy bundle from the gods.”

* * *

 

So far the sky has still remained the ever dark blue shade that Van Gogh said in Doctor Who. 

The lights in the park were converted to solar a while back, but some eco-freaks who were too cheap to buy solar, stole them; nothing against eco savvy people, just the cheap ones. Leaving dark patches free to the evils of the world. Which mostly consist of the occasional homeless man, who by all means isn’t evil at all. I even share my Hotpockets with them!

Trekking through said Dark Patch of Evil I catch a glimpse of someone lying over someone else. Is that what I think it is? Eww! Get a room! I mentally delete the last 2 minutes. Edging closer to the Patch of Doom Take Two the little light given off by the brightest of the bright stars shows me that what I thought was a randy couple in heat, was actually the serial cannibal killer dude!! Gasping a bit loud, I blame my childhood asthma, he turns around to stare at me.

Freezing in place, trying to catch my breath, I shift my weight to my left foot. Lefty for life! His eyes burn a hole straight through me, still shifting my weight preparing to sprint, his head starts to oscillate like a snake’s, gross. He stops chewing and gives me the chilliest, empty-eyed grin I have ever received in my life (apart from my 3rd grade teacher). Right then I decide to book it through the shortcut I learned from all my romps through the park. I regrettably toss my Hotpocket to the side.

Hanging a right that leads down to the bridge over the river, I run as fast as I can, not yet reveling in the idea that I’m actually running pretty good for a lazy person whose idea of exercise is lifting Hotpockets and using the lift instead of the stairs. Thinking my birthday couldn’t get any worse, I trip over my own feet! Scrambling up, I realize I’m about 30 feet from the bridge I glance back to see if he was still behind me, scanning in the dark does nothing for my poor heart, so I turn my head trying to catch any sound of crunching leaves and sticks. All I hear is my rapid heartbeat in staccato. I think I should get it checked. “Now is not the time Aria!!” I scold myself.

I give one last glance before I make it over to the bridge, gasping for breath I don’t notice a shadow looming towards me.

“Well, this is a nice surprise if I do say so myself,” said a raspy somewhat elegant voice.

Freezing, I look behind me, not 5 feet away is the serial cannibal killer dude. My phone decides to buzz and let out the Sherlock theme song. I let it go to voicemail. It rings again, demanding my attention like a 5 year old. The S.C.K.D. nods his head toward my phone, allowing me one last call before he devours my beautiful flesh and makes an Aria soufflé out of me.

Time feels like it slowed down, I take these extra seconds to look at my ending. The S.C.K.D. is fair-haired, soft curly hair marred with mud and old blood, at least 5’11, pale skin with dead blue eyes, and a crappy U2 t-shirt and a pair of plaid shorts. Not what I pictured as my Angel of Death, more like creepy cousin from the basement, but losers can’t be choosers. However that goes, I don’t care.

I grab my phone from my pocket and answer in a shaky voice, “hhh-hello?”

“Aria!Aria? Are you okay? You sound weird, what’s going on? I’m at your place, I thought you’d beat me here,” Sean says warily, his spidey-senses are probably off the charts now.

Taking a calming breath, I try to sound normal, “I’m fine, you know, just having a chat with serial cannibal killer dude. Did you know he likes U2? Too bad he doesn’t strike me as a Hotpocket kinda guy, what a shame we could have had a celebratory birthday dinner,” I end up screeching like a banshee in the phone. S.C.K.D. just looks at me like I’ve grown two heads.

Stepping closer, leaving only a foot of space between up, he whispers, “My name is Peter.” Grinning like he won the lottery when he hears Sean’s string of curses directed at him, he plucks my phone away and tucks it into his pocket. Stroking my hair, he tells me I smell divine.

“It’s just the Italian seasonings,” I mutter stupidly remembering he eats people. I get an idea, “So if you’re a cannibal does that mean you eat the butts?” S.C.K.D. Peter gives me a confused look before I fling myself off the bridge into the cold, raging water. The river is so powerful it drags me under, the last thing I see before I go is the star that brought Peter to me.


	2. Hobbit Feeties

May 5 2014 to me

9:35 ish in the PM, I think

 

Feeling a large foot prod my back, I wake with a cry of pain and feel a bit groggy with a massive headache. “Oww…what’s the big ide-- wait a flippin minute Bigfoot!” Not yet opening my eyes I freak out. My back was kicked, _my back_ with _no backpack_ on it!!

I jump up swaying on my feet a bit. Slowly peeling my brown river grit filled eyes open, I see a hazy mix of green trees and a feral (fine, quite) pack of kids staring at me warily. What? Who lets their kids run around in the wild without supervision?

My memories instantly start to come back, head pounding harder with each temporal lobe assault. They return with a vengeance, as if my not remembering gives them the biggest insult. Collapsing to the ground, I start to hyperventilate. I feel a tiny hand on my shoulder and a mumble of reassurance, aww!!! what a cute kid trying to comfort me, taking a deep breath I turn around to thank the chump. Staring me straight in the face is a grown man of 40 with a height of 3 feet!! Spinning around with my hands in a karate defensive position once I’m on my feet I begin to strangely recognize my surroundings. Rolling hills-check, giant ass Party Tree-double check, little people with hairy big feet-check check, tiny round doors, gardens, and the sound of tinkling water.

“Holy Shit! I’m in the Shire!” I exclaim in disbelief. Hearing a sound of shock to my left followed by one of disapproval to my right. “I do believe that was a tad bit improper for a woman to say, though I have no idea of the meaning it did indeed sound vulgar,” said a male hobbit to my right, the others agreeing with a “humph”.

“Huh? I mean yes, it was, I do apologize,” I say sincerely though utterly dazed and confused at my musings, “umm sorry for crashing your snazzy party and all, but may I ask where my backpack is?” I ask while describing it. _'What the flipping barnacles is going on?'_ I think as I follow him, the crowd of Hobbits disperse glancing at me with a wee bit of suspicion. 

The male hobbit nods and shuffles to a table where tiny half-pints of ale are laid out. Leaning against the table leg he picks it up and with a little huff hands it to me.

Thanking him profusely he introduces himself as, “Baggins. Bilbo Baggins. May I inquire who you are? You appear to be quite lost and if I may say, a bit not from these parts, most Big Folk stay away from these parts as it is protected by the Rangers,” he says a bit sheepishly. Oh My Gods!! He is soo cute!! Little button nose, curly bronze hair, and a jazzy outfit with acorn buttons!! He backs up a few feet, I realize I was staring at him for the past 5 minutes.

The party continues on behind him as if finding a giant female human thrust in the middle of Hobbiton is a daily thing,  _that's ale for ya._

Still trying to come to terms with being in freaking Middle Earth, I sort of daze off and grab a few cups of ale and down them. Reminding myself that this happens in all the fanfics and nothing but a few half pints can cure, they are sweet and fruity. My gaze snaps back to Bilbo or as I call him Billy-Bob, he doesn’t take to it. “So Billy-Bob, *cue stern gaze*, umm Bilbo, have you seen the old bag of bones Gandalf?” I ask him looking for any hint of smoke or fireworks.

“I’m terribly sorry, who?” Bilbo makes any apology-question so cute!! Biting my lip, a must when I think, I figure since he has no idea who G-dog is he hasn’t met him yet, and he does look a tad bit like Martin Freeman in the Hobbit movie, so Alex, I take Hobbit adventure for 10,000!

Smiling to myself whilst giggling like crazy because the idea of being in this world before the Company is together is so wild that I decide to join by any means necessary. After all, it would be the story of a lifetime!

“Oh never you mind master hobbit! All in good time! By the way what’s the occasion?” I jerk my thumb towards the party.

“One of the Longfoots’s daughters has married a nice hobbit lad from Bree,” he answers, then whispers, “He works at the Prancing Pony Inn and seems to have taken a liking to travelers of all sorts. I’d like to travel some day, before old age gets to my bones, perhaps in a few years.” He admits.

Bursting with news to scream, “BILBO! OMG! BILLY BOB YOU ARE GOING TO TRAVEL WITH THE FREAKING LINE OF DURIN AND AWESOME CUDDLY, STRONG, BEARDED MOTORCYCLE DWARVES! AND WE ARE GOING ON A FREAKING ADVENTURE! BUT YOU KINDA HAVE TO FACE A DRAGON BUT YOU WILL BE BRILLO-PADS AND KICK ASS!”

Instead I just nod and muse my thoughts before saying sagely, “Fate always gives us chances in life for adventure, it’d be best to try them all out before time decides to do it for you.”

Nodding his head in agreement he excuses himself then goes off to mingle and I check my bag out and find all things accounted for, except cell service, I had to try. Walking around Hobbiton on roaming, climbing hills for signal was a bad idea. I ended up tripping over a dry cow pie, _what is that? cement?,_ and rolling down a hill smacking into a fence. Groaning, I get up and dust off my jeans.

My attire wasn’t in vogue with the hobbits, okay not at all. My getup of black jeans, leather jacket with a black hoodie, grey long sleeve and boots (they are totally my investment pair,from Frye's,I honestly bought them before my couch, DEDICATION. Shearling lined, cognac colored and worn everyday!), this is so not a beautiful hobbit dress and ribbons in the curly hair. My hair was a rat’s nest, after running away from a serial cannibal killer dude named Peter it actually looked a lot better. Pulling stray weeds and twigs from my black hair I realized my clothes were dry and looked practically new! Thanks timey-wimey peeps!

Remembering how worried Sean was, I start to wish that he knew I was okay and he would be so jealous of me right now! Not watching where I was going, I smack right into a hobbit! I mean my height is that of 5’4 and man, hobbits are such wee little things that he fell right over! Letting out a small “oof” I quickly grabbed his hand and yanked him up, a bit too much as he let out a yelp. Apologizing and making wild gestures I squint and recognize the acorn buttons belonging to none other than Billy Bob!

“Billy Bob!” I exclaim loudly earning a cute glare and a smile to soften it, “What brings you to these parts?”

“The wedding celebration has ended and I was on my way home, then I ran into you, pun intended.” He grins.

“Bilbo I had no idea you were a comedian, I have some jokes for you!! Though a bit raunchy, its so hils! Dane Cook would blush!!” I say proudly, Bilbo just stares at me with a what-the-heck-have-you-been-drinking face.

Changing the subject with a question of how far the Green Dragon is, Bilbo kindly informs me that it is overflowing with the Longfoot clan and invites me to use his guest room, as we are now friends. Agreeing quickly and naming all the action movies we would watch I realize that I might never go home. Bilbo seeing my despairing look cheers me up by saying we arrived and if I would like some tea and a slice of lemon cake. Tossing on my happy food face he shows me the room, which has a warmth that my apartment never had. I instantly cheer up, unpack and find a spare set of clothes in my backpack. A pair of insulated sweats, a black windbreaker and undies, thank gods for that.

Giving a great big sigh, I jump off the wee hobbit-sized bed and head toward the delicious smell of food. Looking around I see a table piled high with books and maps of all kinds. Boy, Bilbo is sure going to be in for a surprise later. I stop to stare at the mirror above the mantle, my bronze skin is marred by a faint scar across my eyebrow ending by my ear, steeling myself to the painful memory of its making. Flashes of a dark room, a hand gripping a jagged piece of mirror, an evil grin filled with malice, the screams of my mother begging my father to leave me alone, to take her, seeing her eyes glaze over and close finally in peace, free of the violent pain assaulting her broken limbs.

Blinking away tears, I see Bilbo’s reflection next to mine. Giving a comforting pat on the back, he doesn’t pry or ask questions, smiling he leads me to the dinning room. A nice oak table situated next to a roaring fire, I take in the smells of lemon, sugar, mint, and feel renewed and welcomed. I have found a truly great friend in Bilbo Baggins and right then I promise my life to the Gods that I will protect him by any means and make sure he comes back home.

After eating my fill of the lovely cake and mint tea, we say good night and Bilbo declares, “a new friendship means a big first breakfast!” He closes the door to which his room, I enter mine. Getting comfy under the covers, I think of the past few hours, which feel more like seconds to me. Deciding that the best thing to do is not cry and not to show weakness, just like I’ve always done, to just survive and take it one day at a time. Glancing out the circular window, I see the same star as the one on Earth when I left, it gives me a feeling of comfort like that of a friend. Tucking the question about the origins of the star away for Bilbo tomorrow, I drift off and dream a dreamless sleep.

 


	3. An Unexpected Tragedy

May 6 2014 my time

6:00 AM-ish

Bag End

 

Rising somewhat with the sun and chipper chirping of birds the aroma of crispy bacon invades my nose. Dressing for the day in yesterday’s clothes, I have to ask Bilbo where the river is or however they clean clothes. Sure as shit they don’t have electricity or the hobbits definitely would have had lasers and strobe lights for the parties.

Padding into the kitchen I see the mighty breakfast I was promised. Table set for two with plates full of bacon, hash potatoes, scrambles eggs, berries of all sorts, warm fluffy biscuits, jars of preserve, jug of milk and a nice pot of tea.

“Good morning, Aria!” Bilbo greets walking in with a pot of honey, “Did sleep well? I hope this suits you til second breakfast rolls around,” he grins, tiny dimples show.  _Aria, do not under any circumstances squeeze Bilbo to death, until after the quest._

“Hola, Bilbo! Nice morning to ya! I slept very well, thank you! This is an excellent breakfast by the way! Good on ya man!” I say plopping down and stuffing a few berries in my mouth. The strawberries are so ripe I let out a little squeak of pleasure. “Oh my Gondor!I usually just pop a Hotpocket in the microwave to nuke for a bit, this is way healthier, I’m sad to admit,” I shrug.

“Umm what’s a Hotpocket?” he asks with a tilt of his head, spooning eggs onto his plate, not noticing my reference to Gondor.

“I totally forgot that I’ll never see a Hotpocket again in my life!!” I begin sinking down into my chair as if all the world’s burdens have fallen onto my shoulders. Shaking myself out of my funk I begin to describe the wee pockets of heaven filled gooeyness to him. His eyes glaze over and a sudden hunger fills them until he declares, “I will attempt this feat of baking if it is the last thing I do!” he finishes with a fist pump.

Giggling to myself, I pour some more of the delicious tea and grab a handful of bacon. Deciding that fresh milk is the way to go, with its creaminess and silkiness caressing my throat, I vow to eat au naturel forever.

Drizzling honey over his bowl of berries, Bilbo decides to ask my how I came to be here. Stilling my movement of the fork, I pat my mouth with the napkin and begin my tale.

“Well, first off this may sound a bit strange. Maybe a lot strange, who knows, well I do but whatever. A bit Matrix-y but bearably mind-blowing. Hehe. I mean honestly I almost gave myself an asthma attack, but as they say things happen for a reason, and at least I know what's up. So I ask that you stay silent and hold any questions until I finish, okay?” Eyes questioning, he nods in assurance. 

Taking a deep breath I start off with my life before my sudden departure.

“I was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico. In May 4, 1990,” his sudden snap of his head catches my eyes, he gestures for me to continue, “It’s basically a desert with loads of mountain ranges. I was raised an only child by my parents who met on a camping trip. So cheesy, but they fell in love and had me. It wasn’t until I turned 5 that my dad started to drink and hit my mom, it wasn’t long after that he started to hit me too. My mother always tried to escape with me but somehow he always found us. Realizing that escape was futile, we stayed.” Memories long built up and forgotten begin to come back with renewed vitality. Suppressing the urge to runaway, I get up to look out the window. Not seeing the lush landscape, or happy faces of happy hobbits, but seeing a monster I used to love.

“He wasn’t always a violent man, I think his breaking point was when he and my mom lost my baby brother. She had a miscarriage, my father always wanted a boy. He loved me but not as much as my brother,” I say in a flat voice.

“Aria, that still gives him no right,” Bilbo manages to say, a bit of his anger flows into his voice.

“I know Bilbo, he should have never been that weak. Grief touched us all. In his anger he beat my mom so bad, the doctor said she would never have children again. That was just adding more fuel to the fire. Where I come from violence happens in many households, some people will speak out against it but some will ignore it. The latter is more dominant in my world. Especially when the man knows where to hit so it doesn’t show.” I unconsciously touch my back and ribs where the bruises once colored my skin. I turn toward the sun-filled window, hoping the warmth will soothe my achy heart.

I see Bilbo out of the corner of my eye clenching his fists and hardening his eyes. I forgot Hobbits are a peace loving race and everything is cherished. Especially since the Fell Winter.

“My mother’s friends tried to help us, they once beat up my dad and tossed him out,” letting a smile break my stoic façade, “I’ll never forget that, sadly that was my father’s last straw. When he finally dragged us home he tossed my mom into the living room, and me into the closet. Hearing nothing but screams and cries of pain, I didn’t need to peek out the door because I’ve seen it all before. When he was done, he wretched open the door and dragged me out like a dog does its pup. Throwing me to the ground, readying his fist and belt, I shut my eyes and waited for the pain.

It never came as my mother screamed for him to leave me alone, and threw herself at my dad right into the mirror on the wall.” Touching my scar, so faint, one must be close enough to see it. So vivid the memory, as if I happened yesterday, I flinch when my hand makes contact.

“My scar if you noticed, is quite long, I got that in my mad dash to save my mother from this monster. This monster who had lived in the room across the hall, not under my bed. I tried to roll her off him, but he grabbed a shard of the mirror intent on ‘teaching me a lesson I won’t forget’ and sliced my face. I was lucky enough it missed my eye, I fell flat on my back, face numb with pain, and I saw my mother kill him with her last breath. Plunging the same shard into his chest. I’ve never seen so much blood before. It was as if time stopped and that’s when I realized that I was truly alone.” Wiping a tear that fell onto my cheek, I feel soft fabric being pushed into my hand, a handkerchief. Smiling at Bilbo’s sweet gesture, I dry my eyes. " You see my grandparents died before my father became what he was, and he was an orphan. My mother was a single child, I suspect that if she had any siblings they would have been as fierce as Mahal protecting their family. In the end all I had to rely on was myself."

“When the police arrived, I could see pity in their expressions, I’ve never liked pity or feeling any type of weakness from myself or from others, I flew into a rage and they had me tranquilized. I kept thinking that if we were that loud in our struggles why would nobody help us? She would have still be alive.

I woke up in the hospital two days later with the social worker right beside me. She put me in a few foster homes, but I didn’t want a new family, I just wanted my mom back. Right then I decided I was meant to be alone, until I met Sean when I was seven, he’s my best friend and was my only one until I ran into a certain hobbit.” Bilbo beams brightly that I include him as a best friend.

Turning from the window I feel warm arms wrap around me. Enveloping in his warmth and caring nature, I hug him back. I hold back my tears, knowing once they are free they’ll never stop flowing. Giving a great big sigh, we part after a while, feeling oddly light and free I ask to see the garden. Bilbo readily agrees and we walk out the freshly painted green door. Stepping foot outside the house I feel as if life has just begun, free and full of light, and I intended to make the most of it.

 


	4. Sunflowers and Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What? A wizard?

9:37 ish AM Bag End

 May 7 2014 Aria Time -(I am soo bored of keeping time and dates, I’ll leave it to Gandalf. After all I am praised for my excellent sense of guessing the time. Sean said it was because I never sleep due to Netflix and fanfics.)

 

The garden was absolutely gorgeous. We sit on a lovely carved wooden bench with cast-iron details of leaves and acorns. Bilbo told me that his mother was very fond of sunflowers and poppies, which decorated the center of the yard in a circular pattern.

 

“She used to tell me stories of how my great-great-grandfather Ferumbas II once traveled to the outskirts of Harad. As you know Tooks are very curious and sometimes foolishly so. And there he met a Haradrim master of magic, ‘Don’t confuse a magician with a Wizard, my dear Bilbo,’ said my mother ‘a magician is one of man-made magic, not pure like that of the Istari’.

 

Ferumbas was a Took through and through, for that he approached the Haradrim with a certainty of awe and introduced himself, for the magician was alone on an isolated path. The Haradrim called himself Loridrid, he was an outcast of his people due to being born under a dark moon, a bad omen in his tribe. Cast out, Loridrid sought out the teachings of healers and magic wielders, mastering them within the next year.  Wandering the lands, healing the sick, the poor, and the unwanted. Wondering why of all the beings in Arda, why a hobbit was deemed worthy of his tale Ferumbas questioned him. Loridrid answered ‘because I see your destiny, your soul, so pure and so curious,’ Ferumbas had the decency to blush, ‘ I can tell that your future and that of your unborn kin will have the world to explore and courage is to be found in great measures for their destinies are intertwined with the fates of all.’”

 

I looked on enthralled with Bilbo’s tale, urging him to continue. The winds have picked up and the smells of baked goods and honeyed meats scent the air. Warmth from the sun heats my back and sooths my aching soul. Feeling a kinship toward the Haradrim, the feeling of being unwanted, tainted by no making of our own, though finding the strength to keep going, to help others. Bilbo glances at me, reading my emotions, he concedes and continues his tale of magic and adventure.

 

“Ferumbas was the epitome of hobbitish shock, not in the way of distain and distrust, but of knowing the fates of his kin were to be grand and adventurous. The Tookish delight he took in having a destiny worth the whispers and rumors of the gossiping Hobbits of the Shire was grand. Loridrid then told him of stories he learned from his previous masters, of creatures made of fire, trees that spoke and roamed about, great Eagles flying in the heavens, and mischievous woodland faeries who live in flowers of the wilds.

 

They spoke well into the night, the light of the stars and silver path of the moon shone down upon them until at last Ferumbas fell asleep dreaming of eagles, faeries, and elves. Loridrid glanced down at the hobbit, knowing the fate of his kin, he whispers a prayer of fortitude and protection for his line. The sleeping hobbit dreamt only of the winding streams and rolling hills of the Shire.

 

Upon waking, Ferumbas realized he was indeed alone, nar a sight of hide nor hair of ever meeting a magician. Returning home, he found a satchel of sunflower and poppy seeds, recognizing them from Loridrid’s description of their healing properties and wonderful scent. Planting them, he hoped a few faeries would claim them as home.”

 

Finished with his tale, Bilbo glances around the garden, so the Tookish side DOES come out to play often. Smiling at him, I ask him, “So do you think you have a such a destiny?”

 

“Aria, it is just a story. I think I am much more suited to the life of a respectable hobbit, a Baggins of Bag End. Yes, indeed I am, why do you ask?” he questions with a hint of curiosity in his hazel eyes.

 

I take a deep breath of sweet grass and sunshine, I peek at Bilbo from the corner of my eye, before facing him directly, “ I ask that Bilbo because I know that you have Tookish blood running through your veins. Adventure and curiosity are as much apart of you as the buttons on your waistcoat. Meaning that as both a Baggins and a Took you are a remarkable hobbit with hidden talents you have yet to unearth. I feel given the right time, you will find and make your own destiny whether or not it was predicted long ago. I believe in you Bilbo, because you’re my friend and whether or not I ever go home, I am forever your friend.”

 

Feeling a bit preachy, I shyly glance at Bilbo in case I offended him or something. Staring at me with teary eyes, I see a tiny hobbit fauntling roaming the forests, climbing trees looking for elves, waving sticks about fighting of evil foes. A young hobbit being told to stop gallivanting around and act respectably, not to cause gossip of any sorts by being wild. A hobbit who focused his adventurous spirit and curiosity of the world into reading books and drawing maps of places he’ll only visit in stories. Who buried a part of himself in respectability and stiff manners of the gentle folk.

 

“Bilbo, I’m sorry I—” he cuts me off with a hug worthy of the dwarves. I hug back just as fiercely.

 

Pulling away from each other, smiling I ask where I might wash my clothes, after all I did roll down the mighty hobbit hills and straight into a cow pie. I shudder with the memories. He directs me to the washbasin and starts to haul over some water, not wanting him to do all the work, I tell him to relax and go into the front yard to catch some rays. Looking at me quizzically, he does as I tell him, grabbing his pipe and bag of weed, I mean tobacco.

 

Carrying my clothes after changing into the spare set, I get to work. Miming rolling up my sleeves, I grab the lavender soap and scrub my clothes. GAH!! Why do the fanfics have their OC use lavender soap or whatever and have the dudes always fall off their horses when they smell them?? I mean come on! This stuff smells like a grandmother, or even worse medicine. Seriously though when it’s mixed with vanilla Snuggles style it’s awesome, but by itself, no way in heck am I wearing it.

 

Calming or not, I feel a bit sleepy, after my rough night I pull my head out of the water for the third time. Hanging up my clothes on the line, I squeal over the tiny clothes pins he has!! Hobbit stuff is sooo adorable!!

 

Wondering how I’m not freaking out or hyperventilating or throwing Bilbo’s mother’s West Farthing dishes at him, I conclude that nothing much phases me anymore. Growing up the way I have, nothing ever does. Sean knows all about my history, after all I did give him a punch or two when we first met. Feeling a slight tug in my heart, I know he KNOWS I’m okay. We kind of have a weird twinsy telepathy thingy going on. Reminiscing over how we once were separated by my foster parents because they thought he was a bad influence we both sought out our secret fort and at the same time, I swear, suggest we runaway to the amusement park and live there. Eventually we were taken back home and grounded ‘until I turn 50!’ Chuckling over our crappy yet workable feelings of knowing just how the other fares I hear a very familiar smoky, grandfatherly voice.

 

“—do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?” spoke the tall wizard garbed in grey. Spying the grand wizard from the side of the house like a creeper in the summer, I compare him to the movie Gandalf. Hmm…interesting. This Gandalf appears more Gandalfy. He is way too tall for any ride at the amusement park, has greyer hair than something grey, just Gandalfy-er.

Laughing quietly at my horrible jokes, I snort loud enough to see that pointy hat turn my way. Trying to appear much more mysterious and worldly, I sober up and trip over the carrots. Covered in dirt, Bilbo looks at me in shock as if I performed one of the super illegal forbidden curses right in front of him. Trying to placate his feelings I scramble to attach the greeny thing back on top of the carrot, can you say epic fail?

 

I hear a deep chuckling sound off to my left, the smell of old Toby assaults my nostrils. Gandalf.

 

Standing straight, I look up, and up and up finally seeing the weathered face of an Ian McKellan look-a-like, I am totally expecting Sir Patrick Stewart to pop out from behind the wash taking a selfie in exquisite finery of a fedora and striped shirt. They are what Sean and I aspire to be.

 

“And just who might you be young lady? You do not appear to be of the Shire, for you lack the graceful footing of hobbits.” He says sagely with a hint of a smile.

 

“Uhhh umm,” I say intelligently. “Hi, I’m Aria. Last name is a bit odd, I mean I rarely tell anyone. But since you’re like a super cool wizard and Billy Bob here doesn’t know it yet, I’ll tell ya. Because like Lady Galadriel will tell you anyway, she’s like that, but super cool though, I’d totally invite her to my birthday party and stuff. She gives AMAZING gifts, except the hair thing, that was tad stalkerish but Gims is cool so it’s s’okay,” I take a deep breath after that crap monologue, I tend to talk a lot when I get nervous, surprise! Not really. Gandalf just stares at me as if I shared shrooms with Radagast and smoked all the Old Toby in Arda. Gah! Good impression Aria.

 

“Umm,” I have seriously never in all my 24 years heard Gandalf speechless, unless you count the dwarves pestering him about his dragon slaying skillz.

 

“I mean you are a wizard and not going to go all Merlin on me, old school Merlin with the Metal cap and not the hot one who loves Arthur,” I chuckle weakly, Gandalf just stares at me, while Bilbo feigns any knowledge of knowing me, “ Wow! Okay, my last name is Edgewater. Aria Edgewater at you service, sir.” I bow, thinking I screwed up because only the dudes bow, I try to curtsey which only ended with me twisting my legs into a mess and falling over in a heap. Gods help me if I act like this in front of the chillest person in Middle Earth, what will I act like when I meet Thorin freakin’ Oakenshield??

 

I get up and awkwardly whisper good-bye and give him a quick wave and handshake. Bilbo just tries to stifle his laughter and my butchered introduction into the wizard hierarchy. Thanks Bilbo, you will pay because I can eat you out of house and home!!

 

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Sitting in the dining room with my hand stuck in the cookie jar (literally) I enjoy the wonderful mint tea, courtesy of the Gamgees greenthumb. Bilbo rushes inside, closing the door swiftly, a bit harshly as well. “Hey! Billy Bob take it easy, that door was just painted a week ago.” I say yawning to myself, I am weird like that, most stimulants and depressants have the opposite effect on me. Caffeine for instance makes me sleepy and later I get super hyper. Glancing out the tiny window by the door, Bilbo immediately jumps away as if hiding from someone.

 

Hearing a slight scratching sound, I yawn out, “ that better come off. I am too tired to fix it, Bilbo be a dear and help me get this off my hand, please,” I mutter sleepily.

 

“Oh dear!” exclaims Bilbo, “how on Middle Earth did you do this? You only left us for five minutes!” Tugging at the jar, it doesn’t give any sign of coming off. “Well, it appears to be stuck rather snuggly. Just my luck I ran out of butter, I have yet to stop at the market to pick up some—Aria?” Bilbo asks.

 

Aria which tea canister did you use? Was it the one marked ‘Mint-Chamomile’? Aria,” he starts to laugh, seeing my drowsy state, “ that tea is a sleeping draught, it has a hint of valerian. The ‘Mint’ tea is colored blue not purple. Haha!” I hear his belly-deep laugh and chuckle sleepily.

 

“Bilbo do you mind if I take a short nap? I’m afraid I can’t keep my eyes open,” before he could argue about the state of my hand I intervene, “my hand is fine, about as comfy as a Hungarian Horntail’s golden egg, it won’t cut off any circulation, it’s just stuck, I’ll be fine I promise. Go do your shopping and mingle. I’ll be up before you come back, promise,” I say with a hint of a smile, yawning.

 

Sighing in defeat, he tells me to not sleep on my hand and he’ll be back as soon as he buys butter, I sense a hint of sadness when he tells me of his plan to use butter on my hand. Hmm, me too Bilbo, we should save it for the fish. I nod my head in agreement and make my way to the guest room. As I lay down I hear the door close and the darkness takes me prisoner. My last thought was that the tea could double as a horse tranquilizer, hehe! Horses in frilly dresses drinking tea out of tiny tea cups…haha…stupid…haha….

 

\------=--------=-------=-------=---------=--------=------=------=------=------=-----=--------

 

Walking to the Market in a hurry to purchase some butter from Farmer Maggot II, I spy a pointed grey hat. What did that wizard mean by adventure? I know that I yearn for adventure, my curiosity sometimes takes over, hence why I love long walking holidays, Frogmorton was indeed fun!

 

Maybe Aria was right, I am a Baggins _and_ also a Took. Maybe I do have hidden talents that are just waiting to make themselves known. Oh well, we’ll never know shall we?

 

Hmmm, I wonder how she feels about fish for supper?

\----=-------=--------=-------=--------=--------=---------=-------=-------=-------=-------=------

 

Scurrying across the dingy red carpet to escape his clutches, knowing that the more I run the worse it’s going to hurt. Chuckling darkly, I realize the irony of having a red carpet, easier to hide spilt blood. Hitting the wall, flanked only by corners, I hear a deep voice caress my ear, “No where to hide, you should have stayed down.”

 

I turn around to glare at him, concentrating all my hate on his handsome face. How could such evil and malice flow off of in waves from the face of a fallen angel? Deep hazel eyes hooded by a strong brow, edged in thick lashes that frame the masculine yet sharp cheekbones of a man who played with me in the rain, who made me feel so loved and cherished that I believed nothing bad could ever happen as long as he was around.

 

How could someone revert into something so animalistic, so sadistic that a 6 year old flinches with every word spoken and touch given, never feeling love, only a gut wrenching urge to runaway and never look back.

 

Grabbing a fistful of hair I scream from the pain that radiated from my skull to my neck. Throwing me across the floor I land awkwardly on my wrist. Crying in agony I curl into a ball, wishing the pain would just stop, that it would all stop, that my mom would wake back up, his fists never hold back. Starting from his attack, he rushes towards me, leaning down to ask, “Are you alright, sweetie? Are you hurt?”

 

I don’t respond, knowing that his games are just that, games. Harshly grabbing my wrist in relished retaliation to my refusal to answer, I try to muffle my cries, I force my pain into the deepest, darkest corner of my mind, where all things end up.

 

“God damn it! Now I have to take you to the hospital, why can’t you just listen and do as I say!!” Running his strong, slender hands through thick black hair he picks me up and as our ‘Father-Daughter Outing’ routine I tell the doctor I fell from a tree.

 

Driving home, I feel nothing, I stay quite, keeping it all inside. Emotions only complicate things and makes them worse.

 

Waking up from old memories that plague my dreams are the worst part of the nights, I sigh deeply remembering it’s all in the past and I am in the present. I have Sean and Bilbo, new memories to make and dream of. I cover my face with my hands, rudely finding out that the part of having my hand stuck in a jar wasn’t apart of the dream. Oww. Rubbing my head, I walk out of the room, my bare feet lightly padding towards the dining area. Old lessons die hard.  

Spotting Bilbo turning what looks like fish and smells like heaven in the skillet, props to a man who knows how to cook.

 

“Mmm! Billy Bob why do you not have a mob of hobbit chicks after you?” I question, “You are soo an eligible bachelor who has it all down and you got it going on! I mean have you looked in a mirror lately? You are so getting a rose from me,” I say brightly with a nod both my hands on my hips.

 

“Uhh, thank you?” he blinks at me confused and a hint of a blush blooms on his cherubic cheeks. So adorable as always! “Would you like some dinner now? I was going to wake you but you seemed to be sleeping very deeply, I must say I’m sorry I didn’t warn you of the effects of the tea,” he looks at me apologetically through his curly lashes.

 

“No problem Bilbo, no apologies necessary. It was my own fault for ransacking your kitchen, haha, umm…Bilbo? Dinner sounds like a grand idea but do you perhaps think you could help me get this off my hand?” I ask waving the jar around the room as if I’m a flight attendant demonstrating the inner working of a hobbit hole.

 

Jumping up from his position by the fire, he goes into the pantry returning with a spoonful of precious butter to work the jar off my hand. It feels like a sauna inside, I have to admit that my hands get sweaty when I’m nervous or scared, and that dream didn’t help much. Spreading it around my hand and into the crevices of the jar he starts to twist and turn the jar, while simultaneously pulling.

 

Grunting with the effort of pulling my hand, the butter melts and rolls down the sides of the jar resulting in Bilbo accidentally letting go and me smacking myself in the face.

 

“Oww! Oh Gods that hurt! Ow! Ow! Ow! OWW!” I dance around in vain that it might help with the pain. Good thing my skull is a bit thick, after a few seconds the pain vanishes. Smiling down at Bilbo, I notice that he’s avoiding eye contact.

 

“Hey, what’s the matter? Did dinner get cold?” I tease to try to lighten his somber mood.

 

His lips lift a bit and his eyes crinkle at the corners before he says, “ I thought I hurt you.”

 

“What? No, Bilbo it wasn’t your fault or anyone else’s. No you don’t get to blame yourself for something that wasn’t your fault, the only thing you get to do is sit down, relax and let me finish cooking,” I declare, while nudging him with the jar. He breaks out into a laugh and grabs the jar with both hands and tugs. Surprisingly my hand is mine again and he places the cookie jar on the mantle.

 

“Now, where do I start? Is that the spatula thing? Do I turn the fish now?” I question him without giving him a chance to speak. “I mean I make a mean enchilada but that’s about it besides Hotpockets.”

 

“What’s an ‘enchil-laa-daa’? Aria, how about you just slice the lemons, okay? The fish should be about done,” He gestures toward the citrusy fruits of destruction. I’ll never forget the time the juices squirted into my eyes in my sad attempt to make homemade lemonade. “Okay,” I say eyeing them with suspicion and wariness. Bilbo snorts at my hesitation with the knife.

 

Five minutes later

 

We sit down ready to dig into the scrumptious meal Bilbo and I cooked. What? Why are you looking at me like that? Fine, he cooked and I delicately slice the lemons and not at all butchered them like the nefarious beings they are.

 

Right as our wrists were poised to pierce the flaky, buttery goodness there was a harsh knock on the door, as if the knocker had knuckles made of metal, most likely iron if I remember this part of the story correctly. Practically bouncing in my seat, knowing that it is not like that fanfics where the dwarves immediately become chummy with the OC. These dwarves are real live people. They are more than just characters and storylines now, they are actually headed here as of this moment to party hardy and recruit Billy Bob!!

 

Literally hyperventilating I excuse myself as I try to find a bag to breathe in, no luck so I stick my head between my knees. Bilbo asks if I am well, I just flap my hands to shoo him to the door.

 

Upon opening it poor Bilbo was met with the sight of a rather rugged and rough dwarf.

“Dwalin at your service!” said a gruff, gravely voice.

 

“Bilbo Baggins at yours,” stated the confused bunny Bilbo.

 

Staring at him from the hallway like the creeper I am, I see him size up Bilbo, then just a quickly he locks eyes with me. Crap. Trying to play off my stalkerish tendency to not breathe or blink, I straighten up and walk forward only to end up tripping over Bilbo’s mother’s glory box. Damn thing.

 

“And who are you lassie?” he calls out to me, I stumble slightly as I get up and offer an awkward smile, “I’m Aria Edgewater, at your service,” I try to curtsey, remind me to never do that again as I tilt over just in time for Bilbo to catch me. Dwalin just smirks, nods his acknowledgment and stomps toward our wonderful dinner saying something about someone promising a feast. Oh boy, and I really like fish.

 

Feeling an aura of utter disbelief and slight despair to my right, I turn to Bilbo to let him know I’m a bit sad about dinner, but as my mother used to say ‘always help those who need it and those who don’t’. Sensing my growing hunger, he marches over to Dwalin who appreciates the good food and asks for more, Bilbo discreetly steals a few biscuits for us to feast on in the confusion. Before he could answer Dwalin, another knock on the door steals his attention, this one is slightly more polite.

 

Opening the door, I stand behind Bilbo ready to catch him if he faints from starvation, highly unlikely though, I saw him sneak test bites of dinner, lucky. “Hello,” Bilbo says hesitantly.

 

“Good evening, Balin at your service,” bowing slightly his attention shifts over to me, this is like meeting Mark Gatiss, utterly astoundingly kind and polite yet you feel the urge to earn their approval because they are so fucking awesome. “Hi, I’m Aria Edgewater, um at your service,” I reply intelligently.

 

Spotting his brother with his hand stuck in the cookie jar he walks over to greet him.

 

“Hmmm great minds think alike,” I muse to Bilbo who still can’t believe he has dwarves, unwanted but not uninvited, in his quite home. Oh man, he is so going to have greyer hair than Gandalf by the time he shows up. Marching off to sort matter of the pantry with the dwarves, yet another knock rattles the door, seeing that Bilbo is weirdly apologizing I laugh quietly and open the door.

 

Standing not two feet in front of me are the most pretty dwarves I’ve ever seen. Granted that I am a few inches taller than them, I ignore that. I pretty much find everyone attractive, if it’s awesome then automatic love. In the midst of my crazy brain-splosion I totally miss their introduction and squeak out a, “huh?”

 

Fortunately Bilbo has arrived to yet again save me from my graceful self, the brothers introduce themselves as, “Fili and Kili, at your service,” they smile and break my heart with their attractiveness and amazing hair. Hair porn guys, that is all that will be on my headstone. Smirking to myself I barely hear Kili ask if Bilbo is a “Mr. Boggins,” and nearly cry in relief when Bilbo tells him that nothing has been cancelled.

 

They strut in with more swag than Kanye, (they pull it off without looking douchey too, der they’re princes, automatically born with swag).

 

Thrusting their weapons into Bilbo’s arms they glance around and Kili proceeds to use the blasted glory box as a floor mat. Sighing I take their weapons and place them where I won’t fall on them. Once they get comfy they turn to me, questioning gazes burn into the back of my head. Turning around I offer a bow (easier than a damned curtsey) and introduce myself yet again. Does Middle Earth have a ‘Hi, my name is..’ tag I can wear?? Offering their services, I accept and offer to get Bilbo a cup of tea to sooth his oh so weary soul. The two princes wander the house in search of the sons of Fundin, with the racket they’re making it makes the search easier.

 

“Bilbo? Are you okay? Do you want me to tell them to leave? I can if you want,” I whisper, not really wanting them to go.

 

Sighing wearily, he wipes his face, metaphorically of course, free of frustration, “No, they can stay. My father and mother would be appalled if I ever turned away a guest from Bag End. I have an inkling the creator of this confusion will arrive any minute.”

 

“I’m sure, until then you rest and eat while you can. Dwarves are hearty and sturdy beings, they don’t get that way by feasting on carrots and greens,” I joke making his lips curl upwards. Dwalin tells the boys to help him move the dining table to an area where ALL of them can fit. Uh oh. Before I can interrupt them, a knock is heard by all followed by loud mumbles, suddenly the door bursts open to reveal 8 more dwarves and a certain meddling wizard. Just who I wanted to speak to, as I have gotten over my awkwardness, I approach him.

 

“Umm Gandalf…can I speak to you in private please?” I ask while Bilbo fusses over the dwarves raiding his pantry and home.

 

Giving me a kind smile, he glances at the chaos of his making and lets out a few chuckles, “Certainly, Miss Edgewater, shall we sit in the garden?” I nod in agreement.

 

By now the sun has set leaving the moon to walk her paths in the dark. The stars shine in joy and offer what light they have to guide us to the bench. Taking a deep breath I tell Gandalf my story. From how I insulted a killer in another world to meeting Bilbo to falling in cow poop and how we became fast friends. I leave little room for him to ask his mystical wizard questions.

 

“Well,” he says while pulling out his already lit pipe from his Mary Poppins sleeve of wonder, “ That is quite a story,” before I could protest that it is a matter of fact true, he raises his hand in defense, “I am by no means disregarding its origins of truth, I can plainly see it by the very clothes you wear and manner of speech.”

 

I forgot I was wearing pants and modern clothes! God! What did the dwarves think? Was I a loose woman by all means that I wear pants and not a dress?? No, they would just be polite and assume I was traveling in disguise, I hope. Oh man.

 

“Hehe,” I laugh meekly, “ Umm well I guess this was easier than I thought. Your taking this rather well, heck so am I. Can I ask why do you think I ended up here instead of drowning in the river?” I ask him.

 

“That is a question that I cannot really answer,” he says hurriedly, ex-squeeze me? “But I know that for whatever reason there is, the Valar sought you out to involve you in their plans. It is a great destiny you have been given,” he says in his wise old man voice. Gosh. The Valar are basically, well, the Gods of Middle Earth and I guess whatever they say goes.

 

“Okay, sounds reasonable, better than my version of Mary Sueing it out here and raising a brood of wild wargs, hehe just kidding. But can’t you like 1-800 it to Lady Galadriel and find out what happens and how I get home, not that I have one I just have my friend Sean there I’d like to contact.”

 

“How do you know of the Lady Galadriel?” he raises his brows suspiciously at me.

 

Shit. Okay, I can tell him about Tolkien and the books and movies, right? Yeah, go for it. What? Look at me, talking to myself, I am insane. Nah, you aren’t just intelligent, isn’t that what the docs say? What? Meh, guess. Agreeing with myself, I let out a snort. Crap. The Wizard is staring at me. Act cool. Sure, on it.

 

“Sorry about that, just…thinking of food,” I say glancing at the dwarves terrorizing poor Bilbo through the window. “Actually, it’s a funny story, not really, more like a real story that turns out to become reality.” I discreetly spill the beans about Tolkien writing the books, telling him the Hobbit is a really swell book, (crying inside about the end, leaving that part out since I intent to change it), keeping the part about LOTR to myself and the finding of the One Ring. The more I tell him the wider his eyes get and as I finish he stares off into the distance, thinking deeply. Not wanting to disturb him I sit silently until he speaks softly, “Aria you must tell no one what you have told me, I feel that if you were, grave danger may come upon us and threaten our quest. Promise me?”

 

“I promise.” Sighing in relief, he rises and tells me he will now check on Bilbo. I choose to sit outside for a bit more, I think of Sean and our crazy adventures. Feeling a bit perkier, I rise to take down my dry clothes; folding them I catch a lively melody of singing dwarves and blunting knives. Great, I missed the fun part, I missed Bombur catching the egg in his mouth! Huffing in annoyance at myself I start to hum Lana Del Rey’s version of “Once Upon a Dream”. I have a crappy singing voice but my humming can bring a church choir to tears.

 

Lost in the tune, I literally feel the silence suspended in the warm night air. Gathering my clothes in my arms I head back to the front door, not watching where I was going, as I was looking at the ground to avoid anymore wayward carrots, I bump in a rock, a warm and velvet-y soft rock. Rubbing my nose, I glance up into a sea of clashing waves, thundering skies, and strong winds. Into eyes that change color in the blink of an eye, assessing me as a very poor threat and a more than likely danger to _myself_ , he looks into my eyes again down his majestic nose, (the eyes and nose, omg…ahh the feels) and says in his velvety, smoky, oh so thunderous voice, “If you keep your mouth open any longer birds may nest,” he says with a smirk of arrogance, that little smart-ass comment receives more laughs than Bilbo’s insult. I couldn’t help but turn red, thank the Gods my bronze skin hide most of the shade. Why you little—ready to give him a taste of his own medicine Gandalf gives me a look that basically reads ‘ screw-this-up-now-and-I-will-feed-you-to-the-moths –that-I-call-the-Eagles-with’ look. Huffing in defiance, I turn to face the oh-so-majestic-joker. “Greetings, Master Dwarf. Find your way alright? It wasn’t too much trouble I hope.” I say with a slight pull on my lips and a fire in my eyes. Two can play at this game.


	5. How The Lame Have Fallen

Time: meh, ask Gandalf

 

_“Greetings, Master Dwarf. Find your way alright? It wasn’t too much trouble I hope.” I say with a slight pull on my lips and a fire in my eyes. Two can play at this game._

The only thing  I hear in the dead silence was a snicker that was quickly covered up by Kili when his oh-so-majestic uncle threw him a glare, which he then cast onto me. Not one to shrink from a challenge I glare right back, sensing the oncoming battle of stubbornness Gandalf decides to intervene. Giving _me_ a chastising look, he nudges me forwards with his staff and closes the door, “you are letting in a draft,” he mutters, ugh men. I try my best to maneuver around the hulking mass of fur and armor only to end up stuck in right in the middle of the room. Clutching my clothes closer to my body I shift from foot to foot.

“Miss Aria, I would like to introduce Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of our Company,” he says with a hint of a hidden secret in his voice, he wouldn’t be Gandalf without it. Giving a quick nod of my head in acknowledgement, I sneak a quick look out of my peripherals, resulting in seeing absolutely nothing. Cursing to myself, I take a deep inhale and look him straight in the eyes, from all my bleak observations of humanity I’ve realized that a person’s soul can be road-mapped through their eyes. Cliché I know but honestly it is true, Scouts honor. What I saw can’t really be described, it’s as if he has his shields up and the emotions that he has suppressed have run amok. A bit like trying to catch smoke, every single one is fleeting before you realize what it was. Honestly this dwarf is a conundrum wrapped in a riddle. 

Noticing that I have been staring into the face of their king for the last couple minutes I shake my head trying to get back to reality. I introduce my self, “Nice to meet you Master Oakenshield, I am Aria Edgewater,” I attempt my curtsey while I see Bilbo cringe away a bit. Stifling my chuckle, I smirk. Once I reach my full height again, I take in that I am only 3 inches taller than Thorin, given that I have my shoes on, this dwarf can make even the tallest person feel smaller, he has skillz. Then he puffs up his fur covered chest (ahh fangirling) ready to start the interrogation.

“What weapon do you prefer: axe or sword?” he questions darkly in his smooth chocolate-ty voice. Scrutinizing my worth and circling me like a predator stalking its prey, I gulp.

“Uhh… I can use a dagger (okay a pocket knife…same thing right? One just folds) I mean don’t you just stick em with the pointy end? Hehe…” the Company and Thorin give me the is-she-serious-look. I decide to make myself more skilled than I actually am by declaring that I can defend myself just as well as anyone accustomed to traveling alone in the Shire, which does not give them any hope in me at all. Huffing in the midst of their snickers and jokes, the best one was “I’m sure the lass can defend herself from unsavory characters, I did think those cattle were a bit suspicious”, I am too embarrassed to say they have indeed won in the fight by association, see cowpie.

Ready to get on with the serious Company/Dragon/Adventure convo stuff Thorin barks out an order in start business. Glaring at me for taking up too much time, he sits down at the head of the table, he has a certain questioning look in his eye that definitely means ‘we will talk later puny human’, I am in trouble.

Bilbo forever the most generous host brings over a bowl of stew and some bread and a mug of ale for Thorin. While all the dwarves silently wait to hear the news Thorin has brought, I take a seat in the corner near the exit, just in case…of something. Watching the dwarves smoke and converse quietly I find my attention to be focused on how to convince them to take me with them or how to follow them without causing my accidental death along the way. Knowing how my body can betray me I conclude that I might as well end up impaling myself on a sword or a ladle, who knows?

“What news from the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?” asks Balin.

 “Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms,” Thorin replies to the cheering of the Company. “All of them,” exclaims Balin. 

“And what do the dwarves from the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?” a heavy Scottish brogue questions. Oh boy, that little shit Dain, he is so no bueno at all.

Dead Silence. “They will not come,” mutters Thorin, at least he thinks his cousin is a crap ally too, for now. With this crap news the dwarves murmur amongst themselves in disappointment. “They say this quest is ours and ours alone,” a deep rumble escapes from his chest. Insert more murmurs and more disappointment, I see a pattern here, the soft lighting is doing wonders with this moody atmosphere, I need to invest in candles. Thorin, I think is a stress eater, after his announcement he grumpily yet majestically spoons stew into his majestic mouth. Or he is just hungry from travel.

I would be hungry too, starving really if I traveled for a shitty response from my people, its understandable that the dwarven envoys would decline his quest, because it’s a fucking dragon, Danerys could handle that shit but I mean at least give something at least. Mithril armor (possible more than one shiny shirt in Arda) would be cool, or even a tiny army, 300 that shit, right? While I am off in my own world in the corner comtemplating gift giving, Bilbo pipes up.

“You’re going on a quest?”

Gandalf being the crafty wizard that he is request Bilbo to get more light, I mean you can have so many candles until you have a blazing fire, or wait nevermind there’s only like 2 candles on fire, crisis averted. Whew.

“Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak,” Gandalf says wisely and wizardly while unfolding a map, like THE MAP of freakin EREBOR!!

“The Lonelyyy Mountainnn,” slowly enunciated by Bilbo who surprise has another cool candle, I am a tad bit afraid he might catch Thorin on fire or drip wax on him or something because he is quite close to him. Gandalf could handle that since he has badass Fire Bending powers, luckily there is no need, I am just being paranoid of fire, again. Story for another time.

More talk of portents, majestic hair, iron jackseys, insults, knitwear, map secrets, princes computing data, Gandalf being tongue tied and major shouting matches. The shouting part makes my hands shake, sweat break out on my forehead, so I squeeze my eyes shut and take deep breaths. Why oh why must my memories be triggered in the most unlikely situations? Gandalf notices this as does Bilbo while the dwarves remain ignorant, except Thorin who tilts his head in a questioning way then turns to the Company to silence them with a shout in Khuzdul. I flinch a bit, ashamed of my moment of weakness, I get up and head for the garden, ignoring the looks of the Company. Murmurs of Erebor and keys and hidden doors fade out as I taste the floral and crisp night air. Sitting down in my coveted garden bench I bring my knees up under my chin. Shouts of happiness ring through the windows and yet it suddenly dies away. Wrangling my thoughts in order and reminding myself I am in the present and not the past when suddenly the wind picks up and shadows overtake the glow from the dining area. Curiously I decide to man-up and go investigate. Tiptoeing my way through the very sharp weapons laid around the entry way as neat as can be I hear Gandy explain,

“Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet, in fact they can pass unseen by most, if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf, the scent of a Hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage,” Gandalf smartly replies. “ You’ve asked me to find the 14th member of this Company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins, and hopefully a 15th member in Miss Aria,” he says with a twinkle in his eye.

Thorin gives me a critical glare as well as Dwalin who basically declares I am gentle, therefore weak and cannot fend for myself in the wild, sort of true but I am tough and will not give up for anything. I decide that if there is a time to prove my worth, it is probably now, like right now. Straightening my spine and lifting my head higher I reply lowly, “Weak and gentle I am not Master Dwarves. I have had my fair share of battles and yet I am still here. I can take any amount of pain, give people reasons to fear me, and I am not afraid to die. I promise my loyalty, my honor and I will not cease until you claim what is rightfully yours,” I see slight acceptance yet a challenge in his eyes as he takes in my response. I look at all the seated dwarves with defiance and fire in my eyes, when I get to Thorin I see a strange emotion in his eye for just a moment before it is gone.

I huff and with one last glimpse of Gandalf I see a proud and satisfied gleam in his eyes, Bilbo breaks the tension by trying to deny his burglar skills whilst Balin explains the contract while Thorin thrusts it into his tiny Hobbit hands. I decide to walk into the sitting room trying to calm my heart and head. The fire crackles out an unheard melody in my ears. Hearing a thud I hear Gandalf chastise Mr. Bofur for being a complete butt abet a hilarious one. Seeing Bilbo lying out cold on the hardwood I immediately throw the dwarves my most severe scowl, the one I give Sean for eating my last Hotpocket, and growl out, “What have you done?” while protectively covering Bilbo’s unconscious self like a mamma wolf protecting her pup. Garnering wary looks from some dwarves, especially Dori who pushes Ori behind him.

Before Thorin can even throw out his majestic temper and fling shade around Gandalf calmly tells me that Bilbo fainted while reading the contract and from some very descriptive comments from an anonymous dwarf, who then decides to smiles and waves. I close my eyes and count to 10 in my language. If you haven’t already guessed, I am half Spainish, HE was from Madrid and half Native American from my mother, which is Navajo, I _am_ from New Mexico.

I open my eyes and I ask Bofur to help me move Bilbo to the sitting room, he happily agrees and we heave-ho to the sofa in front of the warm fire. Once we put Bilbo down comfortably, I tuck him in with a throw blanket. I sigh.

“Miss Aria, I deeply apologize for causing Mr. Baggins to faint, my thought ran away on me,” Bofur says sheepishly in his Irish accent, which has a hint of mischief and a happy sparkle in his eyes. Looking contrite and adorable in his flappy hat, I give. 

“It is I who should apologize for acting out of turn Mister Bofur, Bilbo is my dearest and closest friend, if anything harms him my first instinct is to attack first and question later, if you understand my meaning,” I answer quickly, this is one of the few times they get to enjoy free time and traquility during this quest, I don’t want to deprive them of what little they will have. “I didn’t mean to be so dramatic, sometimes my instincts kick in before I have a chance to assess the situation.”

“I understand lass, I have my brother and cousin on this quest as well, I guess we are both even, eh? I would have done the same, we dwarves protect our own, always, I’m surprised your not a dwarf,” He claps me on the shoulder and makes a face to make me smile, my stone façade breaks with a quick grin, laughing heartily we set Bilbo up nicely and head back to the group, who already decided to find places to relax and talk. Bofur decides to speak with his brother Bifur about a new toy idea. I head off to find ol’ G-Dog.

Thinking I would find him smoking outside on the bench, I close the door intent on asking about the quest. A bit hesitant to seek out Thorin first, I know I am a bit of a chicken when it comes to confronting calmly and not when I am angered. Can you say tempermental? Spotting smoke rings in the dark my path was lit by tiny fireflies flying without a care in the world.

Only when I look up from the path I realize that Gandalf must have shrunk two feet and dyed his hair majestic black and added silver highlights or it must be Thorin Oakenshield. Oh boy. Before I could tuck tail and run away, he gestures for me to sit without turning towards me. I do.

“Miss Aria Edgewater, is it? A peculiar name,” he asks condescendingly, I nod knowing it will only get worse from here, crap, dude is just trying to psyche me out, no such luck kemosabe, “ why should I allow a woman on this quest who pledges her loyalty in one moment only to become a threat in another? This I cannot have, I do not know who you are, where you come from and what your intentions are towards this quest and my company, these uncertainties must be dealt with accordingly, do you understand?” he commands with such intensity I just nod in acceptance. I must get Thorin to trust me and allow me to travel with them without telling of my knowledge of the books/movies, I have to save the line of Durin because they are all one another has, Dis including. So I suck up my nerves and answer back with,

“Yes umm sir, my name is Aria Edgewater, it is not at all peculiar, it is the translation of my peoples clan,” he then graces me with his gaze, wanting an explanation, oh well might as well go all out, “if I tell you of my origins can you promise to give me the benefit of the doubt first?” he nods for me to continue, “umm, as you can tell by my attire I am not really from around here. I come from another world so to speak, some thousand years into the future, where only Men exists. My people are quite similar in appearances to the Haradrim, though all races of Men exist too, we are of the Tabahaa, the Edgewater people clan. I am of two races, the Spanish and the Navajo. I know this is a lot to take in but stay with me please? I’m not quite sure how I ended up here but I prefer this to being murdered by a killer,” at this admission he tightens his hold on his pipe, remembering how dwarves cherish their women I hesitantly pat his hand awkwardly and take my hand back when he stiffens, clearing my throat I continue, “anyways I end up in Hobbiton only to crash a hobbit party,” he smirks at this, “long story short Bilbo took a bumbling outsider in and we became friends. Don’t get angry but Gandalf knows my story too, he thinks that I might find my answers if I go with you on this quest,” I finish hurriedly.

Thorin remains quiet and puffs on his pipe, silently judging my story and my sanity. “Miss Edgewater, as insane as your story appears I must converse with Gandalf and Mister Balin first. We will decide whether you will be a help or a hindrance, make no mistake if you are to come you will be treated no differently than any other member. You will work and take shift, cook and set up camp, and listen to me, am I clear?” I hear his deep voice declare. I nod. Before he leaves I speak up,

“Mister Thorin? I am sorry I appeared a threat to your men, but I am not sorry for protecting my friend,” I reply defiantly, “I will promise that I will give the same amount of loyalty to the company and to yourself, I will willingly die for any member of this company,” his shocked expression is quickly covered up. “Because you have a great destiny laid ahead of you, I will help you fulfill it to the end.”

Giving me a head tilt of majestic appreciation he walks off to converse with his posse about my going with them. I have a feeling it will all turn out for the better. As soon as he leaves, I feel the chill breeze, no wonder he had me sit here, he was my wind blocker. I knew he wasn’t as douche-y as I thought he was, he’s just a big ol’ teddy bear but one who can still kill you in a blink of an eye. I snort from the image I have in my head. Walking inside I hear Billy Bob and Gandalf talking about his awesome uncle of badassery.

“Can you promise I will come back?” I hear a hint of knowing in Bilbo’s voice, poor hobbit, he just wanted to eat his dinner and now he has to choose his comfy home or the greatest adventure he’ll ever know.

After a few beats, “No, but if you do you’ll not be the same,” Gandalf states sagely.

Leaning my back against the doorframe, I sigh, silently repeating my vow to protect Bilbo to the Gods. Making my grand entrance to dissolve the tension in the room I ask to speak to Bilbo, knowing that Thorin and Balin were able to hear what was said between the hobbit and wizard.

“Excellent, well I am off to see if Mister Dori has anymore wine to spare, good night Bilbo, Miss Aria,” he leaves soundlessly, as quite as a fluff of dust.

“Hi Billy Bob, are you feeling any better? That was some fall you took,” I tease, hoping it will make him smile, it does. 

“Yes, I am quite alright, we Baggins’ have a reputation of thick skulls I’ll have you know young lady,” he remarks lightly with a smile gracing his lips. “Aria?”

“Hmm? What’cha got on your mind?” I question in concern, seeing the puzzled expression on his face.

“Why do you want to go on this quest? It’s dangerous and full of perils for a woman to even think about going on. Why do you want to help them?” he asks quietly, not to offend the dwarves who might hear but because he wants to understand why I would go with no concern for my safety. 

“I have no family, as you know Bilbo, I know pain because it has been my friend since childhood, I stand alone in life, though people like you and Sean make me realize that sometimes being alone is…rather lonely,” I say with a shrug, “ I would die for any of my friends, I hope in accepting me in their endeavor, that perhaps Thorin and the company might consider me to be a friend, because I already consider them all to be. And as for my intentions, I have never known a home and its warmth or a family and its love, and I want them to have a place to call home, to bring their families to live and to grow. I want them to be happy and have hope. Because in the end that is all we have.”

 “Oh Aria, I wish I could have your courage,” he muses, “you do in fact have family, didn’t you know?” I tear my gaze from the flames to look at him. “I consider you to be like a daughter, one I never had,” he says confidently, my heart catches in my chest, I stare into his eyes searching for any signs of deception, all I see is truth and warmth shining from his eyes. Not knowing what to say, feeling a bit lost and also a tingle of longing that has sparked into belonging I throw my arms around Bilbo and give him a fierce hug.

 Chuckling in merriment, I pull away, “Aria you are always welcomed here, and if you would like you are welcome to live here with me. It may be small, though we can always fix that. I just hope you come back from the quest safely, I for one am too much of a Baggins from Bag-End to leave for days on end,” he whispers conspiratorially with a hint of longing in his voice.

 “My dear Bilbo, I am most grateful for your offer, but I have a feeling I may not be coming back,” I reply softly, knowing in my heart that this is true, he throws me a saddened gaze, “ I have a hunch that my destiny lies with these dwarves and I was brought here for a reason. I promise that I will do my utmost to make sure I do come back, because no one can quite cook like you,” I laugh quietly. “Bilbo you may not have a courage that rivals my foolish pride, but I think you have a courage of a different sort. In time you will find that you are indeed braver than I could ever hope to be. I hope you will consider this quest, Gods know I can’t go anywhere without my trusty burglar,” I tease. Bilbo blushes shyly, putting down his teacup, he begins to rise and bid me goodnight. After a brief hug, we part ways. Sinking down into the fluffy armchair I close my eye and drift off to the sound of a crackling fire. Feeling eyes on my face, I just grab the discarded blanket and snuggle in.


	6. Merit and Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's POV

**Cue: First Impressions**

‘A short walk from the red door on the last great hill facing east’, for Durin’s sake! This is the last time I listen to a wizard’s directions, all the doors are practically similar! I have been treading this…this _Shire_ for the last two hours. Stormy blue eyes scanning the horizon with the last rays of the sun fading to black, Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror began to follow the path laid out before him, moonlight guiding him to his Company.

 

Glancing at every door for the past 10 minutes, Thorin spots the mark of Gandalf on a freshly painted green door. Round doors appear to be the fashion in this area of Middle Earth, gentle lands for gentle people. Not at all like the towering, mighty stone walls of my people. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way’ thought Thorin. Memories of Erebor in its glory ring through his heart, the polished green walls and floor, the veins of gold showing great wealth and purpose, the throne belonging to the line of Durin. Now all that lies underneath the rubble and destruction of that overgrown lizard. Fire burns through his heart pushing him forward to the door, to his purpose, to claim Erebor, to claim back his right.

 

Upon reaching the door Thorin hears the merriment going on inside the ‘hobbit hole’, knowing that beyond this night lies months of dangerous travel on the road he grants them a reprieve of his severe personality. They deserve that at least, it’s not as if he was denying them the chance of laughter and light-heartedness but he knows the moment he crosses the threshold they will change. Instead he decides to sit and wait, walking quietly towards a bench he spotted by the front gate he hears humming. Not the humming of dwarves but of a woman of Men, washing and drying her odd clothes with her back turned to him. Small in stature with dark wavy hair almost ebony, skin the color of burnished copper and an aura of melancholic strength. The song is beautiful and almost mournful in sound, his hand twitches demanding to know who she is and why she is here, the Company’s roaring laughter dies down, he decides to melts into the shadows leaving her to her privacy.

 

Knocking on the door, head turned toward the humming, it opens to reveal the wizard, Gandalf. The humming has ceased and in the home he finds his Company and his nephews. His sister-sons, ‘Mahal help me if anything happens to them, so much as a scratch and Dis will have my head’ he murmurs to himself. Greeting the rest of his company, his eyes land on the Halfling in front of Gandalf.

 

“Ah…Gandalf. I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way twice. I wouldn’t have found it at all if it hadn’t been for that mark on the door.”

 

“Mark? There is no mark on that door. It was painted a week ago!” cried Bilbo in indignation.

 

“There is a mark, I put it there myself,” interjected Gandalf smoothly.

 

With a hand gesturing towards the exasperated Hobbit, the wizard decides to make introductions. “Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of this company: Thorin Oakenshield.”

 

The only being he’s ever seen that small was a dwarfling. The Hobbit, clad in a white button shirt with braces outlining a rotund figure, to Thorin he is definitely not a burglar or warrior for that matter. Smirking to Dwalin who appears to have arrived at the same thought, Thorin turns to the hobbit, “So this is the hobbit. Tell me Mr. Baggins which do you prefer… axe or sword?” the hobbit, Bilbo, looks at him questioningly, “umm” he say confused, with a gruff sigh he asks “Which is your weapon of choice?” Bilbo puffs up his chest and remarks proudly “I have some skills in conkers, if you must know, but I fail to see why that is… relevant.”

 

“Thought as much, he looks more like a grocer than a burglar,” Thorin remarks causing laughing and snickering amongst the dwarves. Making his way back from the door after hanging up his cloak, the door unceremoniously opens resulting in a nose in his back. Turning around he sees the human woman with her armful of strange clothes gazing at him like the dwarrowdams of Ered Luin, smirking in slight amusement, Thorin rumbles lowly for her pleasure, “If you keep your mouth open any longer birds may nest.”

She blushes a soft peach and her outrage is fierce in her eyes. A challenging look replaces her embarrassment, in a soft lightly accented voice, her lips turn up in a mischievous way much like Kili or Fili’s used to as dwarflings right before they pulled a prank, she lilts, “Greetings, Master Dwarf. Find your way alright? It wasn’t too much trouble I hope.”

 

**Cue: Aria’s Panic Attack per se**

Amongst the shouting and flailing of limbs of the dwarves, the woman, Aria, the apparent 15th member of the Company looks pale, huffing in annoyance Thorin turns away from the girl and back to his company and Gandalf. Catching the movements of both the wizard and the hobbit shifting to the woman, he see a fear in her eyes, a deep set fear, she stiffens and with a vacant look on her face, one he’s seen far too often since the loss of Erebor and his kin, he instinctively know it’s a memory one wishes to never see again.

 

Shouting in Khuzdul the Company quites and looking behind him he finds that the woman is gone.

 

**Cue: Midnight Confession**

 

            Packing his pipe Thorin reflects on what the woman is capable of. No ability to defend or fight with a weapon, nor having the control of emotions and the mind, the inability to cope with shouts maybe even violence will cause her to be a burden for the Company, something I cannot have on this quest. Weakness. Her protection of that hobbit leaves much to be desired, though I cannot fault her for having a stout heart.

 

            Lighting his pipe, the wind picks up and he hears the patter of feet too light for a dwarf, without turning his head he motions for the girl to sit. If he must bring this girl with his Company, he needs to know what her purpose is and why.

 

            “Miss Aria Edgewater, is it? A peculiar name,” he asks with a hint of suspicion,

 “ why should I allow a woman on this quest who pledges her loyalty in one moment only to become a threat in another? This I cannot have, I do not know who you are, where you come from and what your intentions are towards this quest and my company, these uncertainties must be dealt with accordingly, do you understand?” he commands, provoking this girl is the only way to get the answers.

 

“Yes sir, my name is Aria Edgewater, it is not at all peculiar, it is the translation of my peoples clan,” she says matter of factly, “if I tell you of my origins can you promise to give me the benefit of the doubt first?” he nods in agreement and she begins, “umm, as you can tell by my attire I am not really from around here. I come from another world so to speak, some thousand years into the future, where only Men exists.” Men? Only Men? With racing thoughts he begins to doubt her, surely Erebor remains in all its glory? He must question the wizard.

 

“My people are quite similar in appearances to the Haradrim, though all races of Men exist too, we are of the Tabahaa, the Edgewater people clan. I am of two races, the Spanish and the Navajo.” How does she know of the Haradrim if she is not from here? Gazing at her with a probing look, she interjects, “I know this is a lot to take in but stay with me please? I’m not quite sure how I ended up here but I prefer this to being murdered by a killer,” at this admission he tightens his hold on his pipe in shock, leave it to Men to treat their women this way and not the treasures they are. Noticing his anger, she covers his large hand with hers, stiffening in surprise she quickly withdraws and blathers, “anyways I end up in Hobbiton only to crash a hobbit party,” he smirks at this, “long story short Bilbo took a bumbling outsider in and we became friends. Don’t get angry but Gandalf knows my story too, he thinks that I might find my answers if I go with you on this quest,” she finishes hurriedly, with a pleading look.

 

            “Miss Edgewater, as insane as your story appears I must converse with Gandalf and Mister Balin first. We will decide whether you will be a help or a hindrance, make no mistake if you are to come you will be treated no differently than any other member. You will work and take shift, cook and set up camp, and listen to me, am I clear?” Thorin remarks with absolute authority in his voice.

 

“Mister Thorin? I am sorry I appeared a threat to your men, but I am not sorry for protecting my friend,” she states defiantly, “I will promise that I will give the same amount of loyalty to the company and to yourself, I will willingly die for any member of this company,” his expression in the dark is one of shock, she charges on, “Because you have a great destiny laid ahead of you, I will help you fulfill it to the end.”

 

Nodding his appreciation he puts his pipe away, stepping onto the front steps he looks back and see the girl looking at the moon and smiling. Such fealty and willingness to help their cause surprises him. No man has ever offered to help or offer kindness in all the years before, but can he trust her? Is her pledge even trustworthy? Men only ever offer their services in exchange for something that they want, never truly selfless. In these hard times, one only ever trusts themselves. Thank Mahal that he has made dwarves such as these, loyal, honest, with a willing heart.

 

**Cue: Words of Fire**

Inside the hobbit hole, conversing with Balin in one of the hallways over which forest trail to take, he hears Gandalf trying to convince the little Hobbit to join the quest. He appears to be failing. Mr. Baggins has a home, and in his comfort he has little to offer in the ways of battle and hard travel. 

 

“Can you promise I will come back?” Mr. Baggins questions.

 

“No, but if you do you’ll not be the same,” Gandalf states.

 

A soft whisper of word reach his ears, sounding like a prayer, looking across to the mantel where a mirror is situated he see the woman, Aria. Balin notices his King’s absence in the conversation, glancing to his left he see Gandalf exit the room and a murmur of words between the mysterious woman Miss Edgewater and Mr. Baggins. Both dwarves are silently listening to the exchange, unknowingly noticed by the woman.

 

“Hi Billy Bob, are you feeling any better? That was some fall you took,” she teases. Making Balin stifle his chuckle at the nickname.

 

“Yes, I am quite alright, we Baggins’ have a reputation of thick skulls I’ll have you know young lady,” the hobbit states proudly and in good humor. “Aria?” he asks seriously.

 

“Hmm? What’cha got on your mind?” Aria quips.

 

“Why do you want to go on this quest? It’s dangerous and full of perils for a woman to even think about going on. Why do you want to help them?” he asks quietly, not to offend the dwarves who are near. At this question Thorin moves closer, stealthy steps none too loud for anyone to hear.

 

“I have no family, as you know Bilbo, I know pain because it has been my friend since childhood, I stand alone in life, though people like you and Sean make me realize that sometimes being alone is…rather lonely,” she says flippantly with a sad tinge in her voice,

 

“ I would die for any of my friends, I hope in accepting me in their endeavor, that perhaps Thorin and the company might consider me to be a friend, because I already consider them all to be. And as for my intentions, I have never known a home and its warmth or a family and its love, and I want them to have a place to call home, to bring their families to live and to grow. I want them to be happy and have hope. Because in the end that is all we have.” At this both dwarves look at each other, knowing the loss of a home abet the warmth of a home before the attack and both still in possession of kin. Balin knows the look on Thorin’s face, the one of longing and desire for home, for a family, and as soon as it appears it is gone.

 

“Oh Aria, I wish I could have your courage,” he muses, “you do in fact have family, didn’t you know? I consider you to be like a daughter, one I never had,” he says confidently, the girl searches his face for any falsehoods, finding none she smiles brilliantly and lunges in for a fierce hug. ‘The lass has a big heart to share yet the walls to it are as thick as Erebor’s’ Balin muses, ‘not unlike a certain dwarf I know’ he looks to Thorin and smiles beneath his beard.

 

“Aria you are always welcomed here, and if you would like you are welcome to live here with me. It may be small, though we can always fix that. I just hope you come back from the quest safely, I for one am too much of a Baggins from Bag-End to leave for days on end,” he whispers affectionately.

 

“My dear Bilbo, I am most grateful for your offer, but I have a feeling I may not be coming back,” she admits, Thorin raises his eyebrow at this, “ I have a hunch that my destiny lies with these dwarves and I was brought here for a reason. I promise that I will do my utmost to make sure I do come back, because no one can quite cook like you,” she laughs. “Bilbo you may not have a courage that rivals my foolish pride, but I think you have a courage of a different sort. In time you will find that you are indeed braver than I could ever hope to be. I hope you will consider this quest, Gods know I can’t go anywhere without my trusty burglar,” she sighs with a glimmer of knowing in her eyes.

 

With all that he has overheard, Thorin, walks back to the end of the hallway, mulling over over her words. The definite and resounding oaths of loyalty and willingness make his heart beat faster, ‘she go into the world without a thought for her life, putting mere strangers and their lives above her own’ he sighs with a hand swiping his face, wanting to wipe away his trouble thoughts as if they were a speck of dirt on his cheek. Such intense vows not of a man but of a woman, and if he doesn’t know the strength and fire of a woman then he is no son of Durin.

 

Balin, seeming to have guessed where his mind has been, remarks, “ So laddie, what have you decided? Will the lass join us?” Thorin gives him a sharp, exasperated look.

“Balin she may have pledged her loyalty and she is willing but she has no experience in battle and she becomes catatonic when the Company shouts, what if we are attacked, the others will try to protect her. I cannot guarantee her safety or have her endanger my men. ” Thorin declares, telling Balin Aria’s tale was not as difficult as he thought it would be. Judging by his composed expression, he believes it.

 

“Thorin, she is capable of surviving. The hobbit is as experienced in weaponry as she is, they can learn,quite quick I imagine. If her tale is true then she is destined to come with us, the hobbit too. Something tells me that they will both play an important role in the reclaiming of Erebor. Just think about it laddie, we still have til daybreak.” Giving him a knowing look, Balin starts for the warm hearth.

 

“Balin,” Thorin rumbles, “draw up a contract for the girl, I’ll speak to her,” nodding in acceptance as he leaves. Thorin draws in a deep breath, walking towards where the room where he last heard the girl, he finds her asleep in the plush armchair. Taking this moment to take a good look at her, he notices her thick lashes, high cheekbones and dark brows are marred by a scar leading down to her ear. Almost silver in color, it blends into her skin, by the color it should be at least 15 or 16 years old, she must have been just a youngling. Anger suddenly burst from his chest, children are cherished and rare among dwarves, to harm one was a serious crime.

 

Not wanting to wake her, Thorin tugs the throw off of the opposite armchair and covers her. Leaving the talking for tomorrow, he walks to the sitting room, his Company awaiting his presence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***OMG guys, this was a bit of a hard one to write, it has been 3 weeks since I watched and researched for Thorin, and I feel like I could have done better. I'm too lazy to edit, sorry. I thought that for this chapter he was a bit too ‘soft’ but then I figured that he was once like Fili and Kili, when Frerin was alive. He was a serious child due to being the first born heir but he had Frerin to lighten him up, to have fun and talk with. But at his death he lost that side of him, the carefree dwarf, so it rears its head a few times to make him more humane and less Terminator-ish. He puts up his wall of indifference and with all that has happened to him and his people he must be what he was born to be, a strong stern king, (prince until he finds out the news about his pops). Plus his life goal of reclaiming Erebor from that ass Smaug makes him even more determined and passionate. Around his family and friends he’s pretty carefree again and compassionate until he remembers his duty to his people. So out of the window he throws his personal life and awesome possum good-guy Harry J. Kennedy away and brings up a mix of Sir Guy/ Thornton/ Porter with a hint of Lucas North, okay a lot of Lucas. I don’t want it to be too cheesy so I only make him easy-going in private when no one cares if he is the king and when he is just a dwarf. P.S. a short chapter but had to write it since I have a crap-ton of work to do for school, so I shall suffer in boredom all week . Love you and review please!! Also check out my Spooks/ MI-5 fic I’m also working on.***


	7. This Didn't Happen In The Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Aria!

Well, crap. First off, let me tell you guys what happened the minute I fell asleep by the fire and not a second more. I was super tired due to the brillo tea I swiped the minute Bilbo left, the half empty cup of chamomile tea was calling my name I swear! Coupled with the coziness of the chair and fire I was out like a light. Emotional workouts tend to do that as well. Let me start with...

 

I scrambled awake after the first 3 minutes of sleep, you know that feeling where you fall asleep one second and hours later you wake up and it feels as if only 5 minutes passed? It was like that but in reverse. With my power nap over I immediately flailed my limbs in a mad dash to witness the best part of the first leg of the journey, the camp sing-a-long!! Okay, it’s more majestic than that…more like a theme song for the moto-dwarves to headbang to. No…Thorin wouldn’t headband he’s too majestic, I imagine that he would be that one leader in the background at the dark smoky lit table in a corner who smokes and drinks his whiskey surveying the area all stealthy and tiger-like. The whole I-am-calm-but-will-kick-you-ass-immediately tiger-y vibe, ya know?

 

Anywho, picking myself off up of the floor I end up trying to ninja my way to the lobby area of Bag-End where the dwarves are supposed to reside. Following the smell of tobacco smoke and manly musk, (hehe, musk), I tiptoe until I am just shy of the entrance. Then the beautiful humming starts, le squee!! Why didn’t I go in and sing along with them, you ask? Well no one can really compete with Thorin’s voice or even Bofur’s for that matter, (am I right?) so I did what naturally comes next I creep. Being a fangirly creeper to the dwarves is as hard as it sounds, with all the weapons I want to touch but can’t due to two things: offending the dwarves’ weapons by sullying it with my dirty hands and possibly impaling myself before the quest even begins, heck I didn’t even sign the contract. The Hobbits will probably host my wake just so they can party, and discreetly forget the fact that I caused my own death by falling on an arrow and such.

 

With the warm calming atmosphere and deep timbres of harmonious male voices I slink to the floor and hug my knees, I think to myself that these guys would have made an amazing acapella group/ boy band. Snorting to myself I decide to really listen to the lyrics, man these dwarves are superb lyricists, like my bones even feel the sadness and stuff. Deep, man, deep.  ‘Brill solo Oakenshield, if I had a lighter on hand I would totally sway with it,’ I think.

 

_Far over the misty mountain cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away, ere break of day,_

_To claim our long-forgotten gold._

_Goblets they carved there for themselves_

_And harps of gold; where no man delve_

_There lay they long, and many a song_

_Was sung unheard by men or elves._

_The pines were roaring on the height_

_The winds were moaning in the night_

_The fire was red, it flaming spread_

_The trees like torches blazed with light._

_The bells were ringing in the dale_

_And men looked up with faces pale,_

_The dragon’s ire more fierce than fire_

_Laid low their towers and houses frail._

_The mountain smoked beneath the moon_

_The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom._

_They fled their hall to dying fall_

_Beneath his feet, beneath the moon._

_Far over the misty mountains grim_

_To dungeons deep and caverns dim_

_We must away, ere break of day,_

_To win our harps and gold from him!_

Wiping away my tears, okay I cried alright, it was a very moving song like that Tarazan one…aww he was a baby a-a—and his parents and that fucking cheetah/panther/leopard thing…gods don’t remind me now! Sucking it up, I _try_ to stand up to hide and sneak back in the room, but my legs have fallen asleep on me, so I try crawling as fast as I can. Basically, moving a foot a minute since my legs are ticklish since they decided to work now. And this was so a private moment for them that if they knew I was like 4 feet away from them they would flip our or worse make me sing a song from home. I know these types, I read some Regency/ Dark Ages novels and those people love the shit out of a good tune and now way in heck can I sing one. They are better off trying to bathe a cat, it might even sound better than me!

 

I hear their boots shuffling on the floor and a few clearing their throats, I bet this is as close to crying as I’ll ever see them, I crawl faster. Crap, I know, I know, stupid of me to forget, yeah? But I plan to fix it, all of it. Because even if it costs me my own life I want them to forget they ever made the Misty Mountains song and make a new one titled Ereborian Hymns: The Greatest Hits. For now, though, I must stealthily sneak back to the armchair and pretend to wake and thus shuffle sleepily to my room. Great plan, except for one thing, a Master Dwarf named Bifur is staring down at me, I hope Ingleshmek is similar to sign language…hopefully?

 

Either way I am screwed, from top to bottom. I’ll count my blessings that’s for sure since he didn’t look angry or call for backup, Bifur just offered his hand to help me stand up after I demonstrated that my legs were wonky by pointing at them and lifting them up only to have them fall down with a dull thud. Bifur is surprisingly strong, I know, don’t judge a dwarf by their size but by the size of their…umm…hearts (my mind totally went a wee bit south, I blame the fanfic…hopefully I’ll never find out about _that_ ).

 

With an ‘ommph’ I am on my feet and walking toward the lobby…wait what…nooo!! “Umm…Bifur…I really need to be going the other way, besides no one wants to see my bedhead or worse witness my mid-night breath! I mean I bet it puts trolls to shame!” I whisper while trying to find traction with my feet on the smooth floors, can you say fail? I try signing ‘stop’ and ‘no’ then it hits me that the only signs I know are “are these tacos free?”, “I love you”, and “where is the bathroom?”…I hate me too. Looking at me in confusion I take advantage of his lack of taco knowledge and scram. Which usually result in me running into a certain someone, anyone lose a furred coat with a side of a hard muscled chest? I sigh deeply, the Gods do what they do for a reason, stupidly, but for a reason.

 

Thorin looks down at me with a slight scowl, I think most of it is hiding in his beard, which by the way is a good thing. “Miss Aria, what do I owe for the pleasure of _your_ charming company?” he says with royal sarcasm, like I’ve never heard that one before!

 

Stepping back, I feign with saccharine sweetness a smile and say, “Oh, just 1/15th of your treasure dah-ling,” digging my own grave that is what I am doing. That’s what the contract says! Oops I mean is supposed to say when they hand it over… _later_! At my retort the Company becomes silent, with a gulp I look up into Thorin’s eyes and see a storm brewing in them. Well color me shitless. Before I could explain how I know about the contract’s sweet offer of pudding, his scary calm serious voice questions, “What do you know about the treasure?” For every step he takes, I take one back. Thorin-1, Aria-0.

 

Stuttering for an excuse, my bravado gone, Balin steps up to the plate and says diplomatically, “ Well, laddie, seeing as I am the maker of the contracts I thought it’s best that she discuss what it entails with Mr. Baggins, seeing as she may accompany us on our travels. I’ll have her contract ready tomorrow to sign before we depart.” With a wink he pats Thorin’s shoulder and stuffs his pipe. Thank Gods for our Elders, though isn’t he younger than Thorin? Hmmm, storing that for later when we all become BFFs.

 

“You really _are_ joining us on the quest?” asks Kili with wide eyes, he’s so adorbs!! His brother Fili looks on a bit suspicious but nods in encouragement for me to answer. “Well, umm yeah,” I say eloquently. Both brothers turn to each other in discussion, I hope that does not mean— “So do you know how to fight? Use a sword? An axe? A dagger?” they ask, as if the previous laughfest that practically disqualified me as a wielder of weapons did not happen at all. Before I could reply with a ‘heck yeah’, the buzzkill piped in, “Fili! Kili! Check on the ponies!” Me thinks someone doth protests too much, he is totally warming up to me!!

 

According to Sean I tend to get loony sometimes when I skip a meal like a Hobbit, I feel a bit more Hobbitish now, maybe I am 1/15 Hobbit?? At that I chuckle to myself, apparently the surrounding dwarves find the fire much more sane as they light their pipes.

           

“Well…I think that I will turn in for the night, you know catch up on some zzz’s before the big show, night all!” I wave and step into the hallway hearing various versions of ‘good nights’ and one mixed ‘good night and don’t let the orcs bite’. Fabulous. Halfway to my room, where I have mixed feelings about giving the bed to Thorin, given that he is a King after all and technically my almost boss. Then I think ‘nah, maybe not’, besides I am the only female, though broaching the subject with him will make me feel better since it’s his dwarven duty is to protect and care for females. I’ll ask.

During my little contemplation I don’t notice a hulking mass of armor and fur sneak up behind me, what happened to “the dwarf breathes so loud I could have shot him in the dark”? Then I remember this is Thorin we are talking about, he is a certified ninja with a luscious mane. Taking a deep inhale preparing to defend myself and my rights as a woman he does the unexpected.

 

“Miss Edgewater, I would prefer that you keep a distance from my _impressionable_ nephews, if you please,” he rumbles with the protective tone of a mother hen. He stands still waiting for my answer.

 

Clearing my voice, “I’m not going to rob the cradle if that’s what you’re hinting at,” I say in amusement, haha me? I’ve never been warned to stay away from someone’s boys before, this is the first and it’s amazing. ‘Stay away from the young sons of Durin’, I use my Thorin voice for this piece of mental dwarven gold! “besides,” I flail my hands in a nonchalant fashion, “they aren’t even my type. But they will be my friends if they want to Mr. Mom.”

 

At this his face darkens, I am half expecting the lights to flicker and see a flash of cold steel, shifting his weight forward, geez that’s scary, and he leans in, “Good night, _Miss Edgewater_. We ride at dawn, be ready or we leave without you.” A cloud of whatever passed between you two disappears after he walks away smoothly and you huff away walking to the room mumbling, “I’m **keeping** the bed, stubborn dwarf. Can you say ‘helicopter mom’ any louder?”

 

In your ranting you don’t see the smirk on his face and the slight curling of his lips as he’s walking away.

 

 

 


	8. Valarian MindMeld

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get spoopy

When most people dream they usually imagine quite a lot of intriguing scenarios or they live the day-to-day life subconsciously and wake up wondering why they are still in bed and not at work or wherever they end up during the day. But when I dream I get freaky, not ‘freaky’ as in ‘oooh my pipes need snaking Mr. Plumber’ … nooooope, ‘freaky’ as in ‘why am I surrounded by giant bees in a meadow by myself’?

 

Which leads me to question whether or not my brain has betrayed my love for a Doctor Who adventure with black-hole like green clouds that time warp Earth to allow aliens to control humans and make them slaves *exhales*, yikes, so I decide to survey the premises. I am rather awful at the whole ‘dreaming while aware’ stich so the mish-mash dream setting is here to stay for now. So by simply pretending I am an ex-SAS operative, al la John Porter, I throw my body to the ground and roll around and basically acting like a loon and even less sexy. By all rights John Porter is a fine figure of the male species.

           

 I become too distracted by attempting to land elementary level flips, ducks, and rolls, they just _might_ be good enough to win gymnastic gold, that I miss the slight change of lighting (I mean lighting _is_ key to everything) and come face-to-boot with a lanky frame that I’ve become accustomed to feeding horrible processed food to for years. With all the trans-fats and sodium I still haven’t managed to bulk him up yet but for now his face is one that I’ve always welcomed. Standing up with as much dignity as I could muster, I see blood-shot eyes framed by purplish bags. Eww.

 

 Blinking at his sunray dappled head, I squeak, voice cracking a bit from overuse of shouts of many misused military terms, “Sean? Is that really what you look like dream-wise? Because I’m pretty sure I make you look hotter than that.” I say still giving him the elevator eyes. Immediately I become locked in a boa constrictor grip that is surprisingly stronger than I thought for a string bean. Looks can be deceiving for someone who can barely lift my flimsy flea market loveseat while I look for my phone.

 

“Ss-ss-eann!” I wheeze out of barely operable lungs, “It’s nice to see you too! In a dream no less, but Dream-Sean is better than no Sean at all.” His direct gaze is full of sadness and tears. Oh man, I don’t know how to handle female-tears no less man-tears!! I mean when a baby cries you just throw it a bone, right? Or was it something shiny? Feeling overwhelmed I decide to bear-hug him until he either faints from lack of oxygen or my arms fall off. Before my plan gets a chance to spread its wings I am immediately set upon by more death grips than the Beatrice aka the Bride, two giant hands make their home on each side of my face as I am forced to stare up into sudden rage-filled eyes.

 

“ARIA!!Wherethehellhaveyoubeen?? I’ve been looking all over for you…you just disappeared! I-I’ve been calling, no answers at all!! Dude you screamed and I thought the cannibal ate you!! WHAT THE HELL!!!” He ends on a deep exhale, the boy’s got lungs. Feeling a wee bit shell shocked that Dream-Sean can communicate on a trans-dimensional level of delusion that I start to get touchy-feely on his face to see if it’s still a wacked out dream. My fingers run over the planes of his face and poking his eye, to which he retaliates back by poking me in my left eye! Bugger, that was my good eye too! In the midst of utter agony, (do you know how strong his fingers are, the guy does type for a living!!), I recognize the slightly raised scar under his man-fringe (long story) that he got when we were playing by an old drained pool in a nearby empty lot when we were wee bairns of only 8 and 9 years, and we accidently fell into it. I landed into a pile of moldy leaves and Sean landed on an old wire hanger; we were fished out by his dad two hours later.

  “What the hell, Sean?!? Sean? SEAN!! SEAN IT REALLY IS YOU!! You old bean!!” I cry out in delight with a squinty eye. Both of us at a visual disadvantage, we maneuver a hug and immediately we go from happy old farts to weirded out pre-adult-o-lescents. “How did you get in my dream?? Am I in a coma?!? AM I DEAD?!?” Hyperventilating I look to him for answers, unconvincingly he looks away. What the heck!

 

 “Sea-” …“Ari-” we both say at the same time, awkward. “I DON’T KNOW!! Aria what happened to you, why are we meeting in your dream like it’s the Twilight Zone/ Sound of Music? And where are you? You’ve been gone for weeks!! I called the fuzz and as usual they were no help at all! I put up flyers and even went as far as making a hotline!! You know how 90s that is!!” he shouts with tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, crap this is bad. “Sean, I’ve been here (flinging my arms around toward the general area of bees) the whole time,” he huffs in disbelief, “Well, actually in Hobbiton, with a Mr. Baggins, and 13 dwarves…” I say lowly gazing at my feet, slightly cringing at his whispers ‘fuuuuuc---’.

 

 “I…it seems impossible, really. Fictional worlds don’t really pop up out of nowhere. I mean how Mary-Sue could it get? Girl gets thrown into Middle Earth via dramatic circumstance and you know the rest, since I nag to you about horribly clichéd fics…but I guess it’s karma’s time to bite me in the ass.” I shrug, “I am sorry you went through all that, I mean the only one who’d care about me would have been and always be you, right?” I chance a look to his face, with his red eyes, he nods, “Always, Ari.”

 

I decide that emotions don’t digest well in a vertical position so I plop down, tugging Sean’s arm with me. It just all feels so surreal. Like I’m having a depersonalized moment. Does this happen in real life? It feels so Matrix-y, like I’ll wake up and realize that it never happened that I imagined it all and for some reason I feel…disappointment in that thought. Turning to lament to Sean, I see that he is sitting stock-still, a bee has landed on his shoulder, I should mention he is deathly allergic to bees. Good call oh-wise-ones, not. Gently lifting the bee off his shoulder with the ease of an expert bee handler (you learn a few things when being a hero SAS, at least taming the fear and making it a superpower), I mean the thing weighs almost nothing. It flies away with a few rumbly ‘buzz-buzz’ sounds, how cute.

 

 With a huge sigh of relief, he states simply, “No, Aria you are not dead or in a coma, trust me, you would have either been in a veggie state with no weird dreams of me, I mean I do get the ladies but that’s not the way my wind blows,” he grins with ease in his eyes, “or your ashes would have been pressurized into a gem, since neither option has presented itself I conclude that we are both insane.”

 

 We stare at each other for a few moments and soon enough we are gasping for air. Our asthmatic wheezes could be heard for miles. Catching our breath after that laugh fest, we tear up again. We are reincarnated Golden Girls, Bilbo can be our Bettie White/Rose Nylund, how adorbs. Sean rolls his eyes at my obvious inner ranting, so to digress he starts to ask about everything. I tell him about the crazy meeting with Cannibal Peter and my last words, to which he cries out mid-guffaw, “Only you would ask that Ari!” After his guffawing fit he finally tells me with firm resoluteness in his voice that Peter was caught by the local police search team the next day screaming and basically having a huge fit in the shallows of the river searching for something, mumbling “I’ll find you!” and “You can’t hide forever!” Holy shit. Not realizing my body shaking, Sean wraps me in his arms, I cry knowing that I am safe, abet in another world but safe nonetheless with my BFF. Peter was one crazy guy and I’m not sorry to say I’m glad he’s locked up again. Hopefully forever and living a vegan lifestyle.

           

 With a sigh of contentment he asks, “So what are your plans, Ari? Can you come back or what? I need you. How on Gallifrey did you end up in Middle Earth?” he questions while conjuring up an apple to munch on, show off. “What? How did you-? Nevermind, it’s not important. To be honest I don’t know how much time we have so I best cut to the chase,” taking a deep breath I quickly say, “I’m not going back.”

 

Hearing the buzzing bees for a couple beats, I imagine the look on his face is of utter shock with a dollop of disappointment, well poop. His jaw is tense and his eyes are burning emeralds. I quickly recount my travels and near misses in Hobbiton with Bilbo, Gandalf, and the dwarves. “I mean at least until I’m finished with what I’m supposed to do. I guess time runs differently here, a week here might be three weeks on Earth,” I don’t say home, Sean notices right off the bat, looking at me with a hurt expression.

           

 “What do you mean ‘supposed to do’? Ari?” he says sharply. Feeling a migraine coming on, I sigh, “Sean, I have a feeling, well more like an urgency to help them, the dwarves. I know it sounds odd and a bit self-sacrificing, but really, I want to help them have a _home_ , to have somewhere _safe_ to raise their families. I’ve never had that, you’re the closest I have to a brother and a home, but I know I can’t always cling to you forever, you will meet a guy and adopt gorgeous fat babies and I’ll be the sad aunt, the third wheel who will hermit off and raise a herd of llamas or something.”

 

 “Bilbo said that I am like a daughter to him, but even though that means the world to me, to have a brother _and_ a father, I know he has his own path to tread and so do I,” I say with a firm nod and tilt of my chin. He shakes his head in defeat and grabs me in a bear hug, mumbling in a sad chuckle, “I should have never gotten you that philosophy quotes app.”

 

  “Haha! Nah, it makes me appear worldly to them, best keep it a secret.” I say with a grin.

 

 “Ari, what happens after you wake up? Will I ever see you again, or is this an ultimatum thing where you chose your old life or your new one?” he grips my hand as if any moment we’ll be force back into our own dreams, I’m afraid to say we might. I grip tighter. “We should have never taken that film class, we are basically Rodger and Ebert.”

 

I gaze at his face, burning it in my memory, when I get to his eyes I lock onto them like the lifeline they’ve always been. But now it’s my turn to keep him strong. “To be honest Sean, if it is, I want you to know that you’re the best thing to ever happen to me in my whole life. You kept me in the light, when all I’ve wanted was to touch the dark. You taught me so many things that I will never forget, you are the butter to my toast. You are my whole family and when I’m gone I want you to carry on, can you do that for me? Can you be strong and live an amazing life, one so amazing that the Gods _have_ to let me peek in on you once more? Because I have feeling that this is where we part ways,” I let a tear slide down my face, all my life I’ve tried to hide my tears from him, the ones of pain, but these ones are of love.

 

 Our hands are gripped together so tight, they are white. With a nod a few tears streak his face. “I love you Ari. Don’t ever let anything or anyone make you feel less than you are,” he says in a hoarse voice, “you are the strongest person I’ve ever known. If anything can beat a dragon, it’s your stubbornness. Listen, I know you never give out second chances but they don’t know you like I do, so if one of them screws up I hope you give them another shot. The world won’t be the same without you, but I know you, trust your soul. While a heart can break, a soul never stops beating. I love you, be safe, stay alive for me too, kid,” he pulls me into a hug, in that hug I feel the world stop moving, the buzzing dies away, and I feel all the love that 17 years and more have to offer, it envelopes me in its calming and soothing embrace.

 

We don’t say goodbye, that feels too permanent. With one last look at each other, we let our hands go. The meadow fades away, the bees vanish, and all that is left is a box from Sean. I read the tag, “Happy Birthday!! I love you, Sis!!” With tears filling up my eyes once more, I take off the red bow and lid to find a silver locket with an obsidian stone set on one side and turquoise set on the other. Inside the locket are two pictures. One of Sean and I at the carnival photo booth and one of my mother.


	9. Get A Rhythm

The Sun is my worst enemy. The light before the sun rises is my nemesis.

I am immediately blinded by little dapples of sunlight that stream in from the small circular window sitting above the mahogany writing desk. It’s a wicked desk too!! I mean the table legs have claws!!! Like legit dragon-looking claws!! If this isn’t fate then I don’t know what is. In my post hissing fit due to the vampiric nature of a homebody (Sean: *cough * couch potato) who’s addicted to Netflix I try my best to tame my bedhead and fix my bed. If I had more time I would have washed them and such but due to recent time constraints set by unruly, fluffy dwarves I had to desist. Leaving the Shire is definitely going to be hard, two weeks here and it started to become home. The tiny round doors, the green hills, the clear cool water, the wee folk, and ohh the food I mean the gardens!!!

With a loud, lamenting sigh I begin to change my clothes, I have to wash this other set sometimes, probs in Rivendell too, “why yes, Lord Elrond this is what we 21st century humans call a sports bra, a very nice multi-tactical weapon of the female species”, that’s going to go well, I think to myself. A small chuckle escapes from my wonky vocal cords when I hear a timid knock from some sturdy knuckles. Grabbing my shoes in one hand I use the other to open the door (well, obviously, what am I going to use, my teeth?) 

“Umm, hellooo?” I ask the empty air. A rather large bowl shaped chestnut mane invades my nostrils when I decide to stick my head out the door to check on my shy visitor. “ORI!!! What’s up my man, err dwarf!” I exclaim happily while he attempts to right his do. Wringing his knit clad hands he squeaks, “I…I’m here to tell you that breakfast is about to start. Lord Thorin requests for you to speak with Balin in a discussion about signing the…the contract.” He finished with a slight rocking of his heels. “Oh, yeah. Right. Copy that…” he is now looking at me with a confused baby squirrel look, aww, “uhem…thank you Master Ori, much obliged now,” great now I’m a cowboy. At that he scampers off in the coolest dwarven boots and lavender (it’s purple *flicks hair *) knitwear this side of the Shire! Ori’s jumpiness may have to do with one or two things: my odd human ways that can corrupt his wee innocence and make him lose his marbles or that I am dead smexy in sweats. I pick the latter. I can do damage in a pair of sweats, converse, and windbreaker. I think. 

Putting the finishing ties on my shoelaces I glide my way towards the kitchen area as regally as I could. “Lass, are you alright? You’re walkin’ like a newborn dwarfling. Are you injured? You might want to see Oin before we head out. He’s our Company healer.” Enquired the lovely Bofur. Joy, my regal gliding looks like I am injured and a walking infant. “Uhem, no Bofur, I actually, um, stubbed my toe. With my shoe on… I’m fine now, thanks,” I reply blushing profusely. “That reminds me of a time when Bifur, my eldest brother, you see, stubbed his toe on a piece of rubble in the mines and he-” this is where my stomach decided to make itself known to the world, “ohh! Apologies, lass, you must be in a right state of hunger. Come on, let’s go get up some breakfast before Bombur eats it all,” he says with a chuckle. Making our way through one of the hallways leading to the aromatic food, he pipes in with, “Bombur’s me cousin and Bifur’s as well. He may be a round as Mr. Bilbo’s door but a finer cook there is none,” He interjects with pride. To that I give a small applause that he laughs at and joins in. Bofur is like nature’s candy, he is as sweet as honey.

You know the saying ‘you look different with the lights on?’ Well this can be applied to this situation, because right this very second when I step over the kitchen threshold everybody I mean everybody is in bathed in full sunlight! Not soothing, glowy candle light that makes everything look like a soap opera. Not that they’re hideous but man! They are freakin sturdy tanks!! I can see their battle scars, wrinkles, every single strand in every braid of hair, the carved symbols and runes in their clothing, wow!! It’s like I got super HD for my poor bat eyes!

In the midst of my gawking my subconscious absorbs the tranquility to feast on. Such peacefulness is rarely seen in the dwarves of Erebor. I spy with my little eye the King Under the Mountain silently sipping coffee (where did that come from?? Did Bilbo hold out on me?) in the corner of the room, because of reasons. Thorin frequently reminds me of a cop or a superspy * nudge nudge* mainly due to his freakish awareness, nothing gets by him, and his aura, it draws the worthy (or unworthy depending on who it is) to his broody mcbroody pants full of majestic-ness (not how it sounds) and a ridiculous amount of determination. Ahh, I could look at him all day, then I hear a whooshing sound. “Oww!” My hand comes away from my face covered in butter and what remains of a crumbly biscuit. Tranquility over. “ Sorry Miss, Kili is horrid at catching,” said Fili with a wry grin. “I am not! Your throw is just off, I’m surprised you can even manage with your throwing knives,” retorted Kili whose smug grin was just tackled off by his elder.

Grabbing a dishcloth, thankfully not a doily Bilbo would kill me, or you know, try to. I scrub my face clean and surprisingly it is baby soft. Ohh! Butter investment to bathe in. I know what your thinking, ‘Butter? No elvish miracle gro?’ Well, nope. Butter is the meaning of life, Paula Deen knows all about it.   
“Miss Edgewater, glad to see you are finally awake. Balin, give her the contract, we must not dally,” he says roughly, turning to the Company, “Adrân safkitabi 'aimukhurb.” With that said they quickly devoured their breakfast and gulp down their ales and coffee. I look over to Balin who unravels the longest contract I’ve ever seen. He gives me a small smile and chuckles, “It’s not the best I could have done, but it’ll do for now, lass.” I know the terms and conditions, death vs survival, yadda yadda. Smiling a bit, I ask him to remove the part about having “1/15th of the treasure” which he promptly gives me an “are you crazy?” look but Balin does it anyways without any validation or explanation from me. “Well, now that it’s settled let’s go have a look at your horse. I see Gandalf made arrangements for you,” he points towards the front yard where I see a giant black pony stomping it’s hooves into the petunias. “Oh boy…” I mumble with a groan. 

 

Translation  
Adrân safkitabi 'aimukhurb- Time to pack the ponies (Time to leave)


	10. Get A Rhythm II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I kinda picture Aria to be a clumsy version of a Sand Snake...ooohhh...I'm working on chapter 12 but so far I am lazy and taking a crapload of business and accounting classes : ( 
> 
> Plus some Sackville-Baggins bashing!! OMG I have to go to NYC to watch our main man in "Love Love Love" !!!
> 
> Enjoy and as always OCs are mine and the rest are T-mans!

_I look over to Balin who unravels the longest contract I’ve ever seen. He gives me a small smile and chuckles, “It’s not the best I could have done, but it’ll do for now, lass.” I know the terms and conditions, death vs. survival, yadda yadda. Smiling a bit, I ask him to remove the part about having “1/15 th of the treasure” which he promptly gives me an “are you crazy?” look but Balin does it anyways without any validation or explanation from me. “Well, now that it’s settled let’s go have a look at your horse. I see Gandalf made arrangements for you,” he points towards the front yard where I see a giant black pony stomping it’s hooves into the petunias. “Oh boy…” I mumble with a groan. _

The first words out of my mouth when I laid my eyes on this beast was to question whether or not it was male or female (no way am I looking _there,_ it’s _the_ polite thing to do anyways), and whether or not it would eat me. Honestly, I spent summers on a farm, but horses were _not_ my forte.

 

Balin gave a little chuckle and proceeded to lecture me on the anatomy of equines and the ‘equipment’ they have. _Of course_ my horse is male. Imagine Balin giving me the birds and the bees talk relating to horses, totes unbelievable, especially since the rest of the Company were within snickering and guffawing distance. I actually am capable of figuring out things gender wise, I mean female and male bits are practically all the same, figuratively speaking.

 

“So, lassie, it all comes down to what you are going to name him,” he states, “like most things, be it weapons, kingdoms, or people, a name is more than words, it gives a personality, a life, a meaning to whoever it belongs to.” Then I think of Thorin, _Darer,_ daring this quest, his life for his people. It’s a legit name for someone so brave and determined. Thus thinking _of_ Thorin, I draw similarities between him and my horse, the luscious raven locks, stoic stare, and broodiness to name a few. If I called my horse Thorin then I am as good as gone. Bye-bye Aria. I step closer to determine his mood, the horse not Thorin. Being careful not to move too fast to spook it, I give him a little ogling when a brillo name pops onto my noggin train!

 

“Cash,” I say resolutely with a smile on my face, “ Johnny Cash.” His ears perk up at the name and he gives a little stomp of approval with a huffy snort. “Hey! Look, he likes it!” Apparently the ‘Man in Black’ is a super star, whatever the timey wimey dealio is!

__

Not hearing the applause and shouts of glee I was expecting, _small wonder why_ , I spot a few confused clocks amongst the packing dwarves and a scowling King, when a large heavy hand lightly smacks my back, almost pushing me face first into a patch of clovers, in support of the christening of Cash. Finally!

 

Clearing my throat in surprise, I turn around to find Kili grinning at the horse with an apple in hand while Fili hovers behind him, you know, _just in case_. “Miss Aria, are you able to handle a stallion of this size? You’re such a small thing and all, compared to him, no offense.” Fili remarks, Kili sniggers and Cash munches happily.

 

This horse is huge, he is a pony and in addition he is whopping three hands bigger than the others, yet, he is the perfect size for me. Yay me!

 

“Well, yes. My late grandparents used to have a farm and I spent my fair share with them. Mostly time spent with the cats and younger animals, i.e. not the horses, since they were always wild ones, my grandpa was a bareback bronc rider!” I say with my chest puffed in pride to a puzzled dwarf, oh boy this quest means I have to step up and become a walking encyclopedia. “I’m sure I can distinguish the difference between a gelding and a stallion well enough, probably,” at this the boys wince in sympathy.

 

“What is a ‘Johnny Cash’? Is it a type of storage?” pipes in Ori before Kili asks what a bareback bronc rider is, who curiously blinks at me. “Oh my Gods! You have not heard of _the_ Man in Black? You have not _lived_ until you’ve heard him sing!” I heave a heavy sigh, hearing a crunching sound from Cash and Kili, who are both munching out on more apples.

 

“Ori, my kind sir, Johnny Cash is not a _cache_ per se but music wise yes, yes he is. He is one of the greatest, umm, singers…minstrels?... who has ever lived! His voice is like rolling thunder…smooth as whiskey…deep as still waters…and with hair as black as night! Ahh...le squee!” I fangirl to myself, ignoring the concerned looks I get from the Company, Dori gives me a strange one-eyed look and steers a protesting Ori away from me; especially since Bofur’s hat flaps around with the inquisitive look he gives Thorin, who is conversing with Dwalin and completely ignoring me, and the look he gives me. Did I just allude to having a voice/hair kink…that makes Bofur _…_ think I have a… _thing_ … for Thorin? Can’t I fangirl in peace?

 

“What? Aye, Oakenshield has a voice as such, when he cares for a song! Hair too!” adds Oin loudly, adjusting his ear horn to listen, for better or for worse. As he walks off to pack his freshly made tinctures I splutter my words of denial and ~~embarrassment~~ hysteria until Bombur kindly steps in to pat my back and give me a nice flask of water.

 

“Don’t worry Miss Aria, you wouldn’t be the first lass to set their sights on our king. I reckon you won’t be the last either,” he offers with a cherubic ginger-covered smile that makes me either want to smack off or squish between my hands. With another sigh of defeat, I see the remaining dwarves (dwarrow? dwarrows? I know for sure the females are dwarrowdams. Looks like I’m not the only one needing a lesson) have already packed up and cleaned the ‘smial’ as I’ve just discovered what it was called.

 

How and why are these dwarves becoming so touchy-feely and _nice_? *turns to nonexistent breeze, cue Scarlett O’Hara voice* * _Aren’t I a stranger from far away lands who has no right to go on this quest?_ Directing my questioning gaze towards Gandalf’s giant hat, he turns and answers my silent query.

 

“It appears, my dear, that staking your life on this quest and the amount of undying loyalty you pledged seems to gain their approval. By no means, Miss Aria, is this burgeoning trust to be dismissed so lightly. Dwarves are cautious beings but once their trust is gained, it is a lifetime of loyalty earned,” he muses, “Now I must see to it that Bilbo’s house remains unscathed from the shenanigans of the dwarves, their manners are as great as their rowdy antics. It should be fine, nevertheless.”

 

Wow that is quite a nugget to ponder. Promising to help until your untimely death seems to gain favors fast, not to mention creating a great opening of friendships. Shouting out to Gandy, “Make sure the door is locked air tight, I don’t want any Sackville-Baggins sticky paws on any heirlooms, or so help me I’ll make living in Mordor a walk in the park compared to what I’ll do to them!” Amidst chuckles of the Company, I miss the edge of Thorin’s mouth lift a few centimeters in amusement.

 

Gandalf gives a small huff of disapproval after closing the wee door, paranoid me powerwalks to double check the locks. Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is a force to be chased with a broom, I’ve had only two unfortunate encounters with this unbearable hobbitess (she is no lass that’s for certain, more like an awful Umbridge equivalent) who would glare at me at the market when I would pass, gossiping that I am some sort of dark witch here to steal their hobbit souls and good silverware. Hobbits are a gentle folk but cautious as well, not to mention that some can be viable candidates for “Real Housewives of Hobbiton: Whose Been in Your Garden?”

 

Most of them liked me anyway, since my bizarre arrival some took to calling me the “Walker in the Stars”. Apparently my unladylike arrival through the river waters triggered my emergency light clipped to my backpack strap to start flashing strobe-like (“like stars, ahh,” said one round Bracegirdle lad, thus the ragtag name); the name is entirely unnecessary and unwanted, I sound like a freaking cliché Native American. Although, the lovely moniker has allowed me to partake in the Bracegirdle’s afternoon tea and apple picking day. Bilbo makes the most delicious apple pie!

 

Leaving my lovely mind palace I peek through the little round window spying the contract on the table. Sneaky wizard. “Miss Edgewater, if you are done dawdling, I suggest you get on your pony. We must make for Bree before noon,” Thorin announces in an indifferent manner, “the ‘burglar’ (note the disdain) is no concern of yours, he’s made his decision.”

 

Torn between defending Bilbo whilst calling Thorin an assbutt and getting kicked out of the Company before I have the chance to pull the magic “I’m gonna save all ya’ll” card I stick to my guns and scoff saying, “He is my father, not in blood but in heart, as good as blood if not better. _He_ is my _every_ concern and you would do well to remember that.” My fists are clenched and his gaze intensifies, his hand grip the reins tighter before he takes a breath, relaxing his grip, becoming dispassionate once more.

 

Dwalin begins to protest against my insolence, whereas Thorin, with a weird look in his eye akin to the look you give a naughty child, gives Balin a look who then gives Dwalin a look who ceases and give a glare hot enough to rival dragonfire. Dang, they are totes BFFs for life, not even Sookie Stackhouse could break them up (she is such a B too! Harris I expected better, though I guess we all need a one like her in fics, * sighs *).

 

“Ifbiri!” With his stoic and unwavering blank face Thorin leads the group out of Bag-End. The dwarves group together by family, I noticed. Poor Ori was flanked by is brothers, with Dori fussing about. The Ur brothers are laughing about something, and Gloin scouts the land whereas his brother mutters about making more salves for sore muscles.

With a pounding heart and adrenaline rushing through my veins I give a look to Gandalf whose look tells me to fix this asap, ugh. I muster my courage and *gulp* figure out a way to apologize to Thorin. I get anxiety like crazy, honestly I can be chill when I want but being ‘raised’ the way I was there comes a time for panicking, for no reason AT ALL or for many reasons too. It all depends on when my wall of emotions comes down and I am forced to feel and let people in.

 

That’s the difficult part, letting people in and just being suspicious all the damn time on whether or not they will hurt you. So sometimes I go into default mode and become indifferent and cold. I’m lucky Sean and Bilbo entered my life, because without them I’m sure I wouldn’t have one to begin with. So I pull a Chandler Bing and hide behind my humor and sarcasm. Blocking emotions causes intense reactions I can’t handle or not knowing how to act, which freaks me out a bit. Taking a breather, I ingrain the warmth and peacefulness of the Shire in my brain.

 

Casting the garden, the bench, the tree, the door Bilbo and I painted a week ago, and the nice view of the Shire once last grateful glance, I try to get on the saddle without looking like a newb and thank Kili and mostly Fili for saddling Cash up, they nod their heads and ride forward with the rest leaving me to bring up the rear. I guess bros before independent women or you know, family; which I can’t bring myself to dislike. Honestly, men are more sensitive than they like to appear. Maybe I should do an insult/apology like “I’m sorry. And oh I love your armor it looks vintage, First Age, right?” or give a legit apology for sort of undermining him in front of his men (bad Aria, Alphas need to look cool always) but stick to my piece about family. While mulling over my thoughts, I hear Nori and the other dwarves placing bet on Bilbo’s imminent arrival. Seeing as I have no income at the moment, spare a few coins I got from saving cats from trees and doing ‘Big Folk” things to help out, I try to think of a way to join in when Bofur beats me to it.

 

“Hey, lassie, what do you think? Is Mister Bilbo coming or nay?” he offers with a grin, “60 coins split to the winners.” I quickly nod and take his bet, knowing that I might get at least 12 coins, seeing as how Bilbo’s fanclub is relatively low on members. Mamma needs a new bedroll and cool cloak of invisibility or just any kind in general.

 

Not 15 minutes after we left, taking the long, scenic route to the road leading out of Hobbiton and headed towards Bree, I hear a familiar voice cut into the low murmur of conversations. A burgundy coat and acorn buttons pop out of the woods waving a long piece of parchment, my Billy Bob is here to stay!!!

 

 

***Ifbiri- move forward.**


	11. Oh! That's Just the Way It Goes!

A few miles from picking up a hitchhiking Bilbo…

Tiny acorn buttons, which belong to a certain hobbit, are reflecting the bright morning sun into my eyes once again. 

Our Company has been on the road for about two hours since Bilbo came running down through the brambles and blackberry bushes waving the contract through the air and hollering for all of Hobbiton to hear about our ‘secret’ adventure. 

As you can imagine, the welcoming committee of one Thorin Oakenshield was about as heartwarming as the Green Lantern movie was good, which goes to say it was exceedingly awkward and a downright waste of vocal gorgeousness, al la Mark Strong. Let me tell you how it went down through my little eyes:

Here’s what Thorin’s stare said: “Mr. Hobbit, you are totally out of your depth and I want nothing to do with you or your horrible un-Bear Grylls-like survival skills *hair toss*.”

Bilbo’s sass face: “Suck it up bro, I’m not leaving Aria to the wilds or to your manners.” I admit I just pictured some Jersey or Geordie Shore bro, my bad.

Then: “I signed it! I signed the contract!”

Thorin for realsies: “Give him a pony!” 

From there you can get the idea. Bilbo was dwarf-handled onto Myrtle and we all got our share of the pot, so make that 13 coins each! Old Gandy apparently makes bank somewhere doing his wizardy stuff. I did receive a glare from Bilbo when Bofur tossed his ‘handkerchief’ right into his face, though I made up for it by handing him one I packed away for emergencies only. He pretty much cheered up after that.

Honestly, though. The ride through the Shire was amazing, there is nothing small here, just the occasional Hobbit farmer tending to their crops and seeing their tiny but sharp scythes and whatnots. That was a tad bit scary, imagine your one of your surly uncles and shrink him down to 3 feet, and give him a sharp weapon to protect his most treasured possession. Now imagine that possession being a pumpkin patch or a stalk of corn, it totes defies the possessiveness of the dwarves. In response of the mini-growl given Bifur kindly, I say kindly and not at all humorously signed something akin to ‘come on loser, we’re going to Bree’ but darn near it, took Cash’s reins and swiftly led me away towards the Company with Bilbo waiting for me. Leaving a loud sniff and grumble behind us. Gentle folk my aunt fanny. (You naughty, you.)

“Miss Aria, how are you doing back there?” said Fili in an amused voice over the dropping of rain, with Kili trying to hide a snortle but failing and accidentally inhaling water. Fili begins to smack him on the back, a mite too sharp, and shoving him into the saddlehorn. Epic.

Amongst the rain I hear some grumbles and mumbles coming from the Company and Gloin talking about how his wife’s beard never droops in the rain because it is so beautiful that the rain dares not to wither it. 

What is it amusing to Fili you ask? I am currently half drowning in the rain and I hate water. It’s ironic that my last name is Edgewater but due to an unfortunate occurrence in my Blue Period, I’m kidding that was just… a lame art joke, anyways back in my early years of learning to swim I nearly drowned. If learning to swim means being tossed into the pool at 5 and left to my own devices then you understand my dilemma. I take to water like an Orca deciding to convert to vegetarianism. No way in hell. Though I can technically swim, I loathe it.

“Gandaaaaaalf!” I whine, yes I whine, you would too if you were freezing you butt off, which caused the remaining dwarves to level an annoyed glare in my direction, apparently they abhor water too, “How long is it going to rain? It’s been raining ever since we reached the boarder of Farmer Maggot’s crop and that was over three hour ago!” I say pushing a glob of wet hair off my forehead. My jacket can only repel so much water.

Gandalf the Grey, Stormcrow, and Tharkûn actually sighed and spoke in his wizardy voice, “ Be glad that it is merely a light spring rain, my dear, the Valar only knows what it will be like come winter.” To that he trots off towards Thorin to discuss the wheretos and whyfors for a short break I hope.

“Snarky wizard, it’s good thing he’s too far ahead for me to give him a real talking to. Why I oughta-” 

At that moment Bilbo pipes in with a huff, “ Well at least you do have a covering of some kind. Here I am getting soaked to the marrow with only my best velvet coat on.”

“Sorry Bilbo. I really dislike water. You know, it’s a HIM thing,” I whisper. He whips his head in my direction, a spark of anger in his eye, he nods his head curtly, hands tightening on the reins, “ The rain should stop soon, I can feel the clouds beginning to part.”

“Whoa, Billy Bob, you can feel the clouds?” I exclaim, forgetting about my current predicament. 

“Umm, yes? I am a hobbit after all. The Green Lady may have created us to be gentle folk so it would make sense at least to grant us a few advantages over the Big Folk,” he puffs up with pride and I giggle.   
“Hobbits are remarkable, you always seem to surprise me. I like it,” he blushes as I praise him.

“Mr. Boggins how are you doing back there? Myrtle is a kind enough pony, she takes to you very well!” shouts Kili over the ceasing rain. 

Yes!! The sun is shining, I’ll never say a bad thing about you again! I feel like Superman when he powers up like a daisy in the sun.

“She is fine master dwarf, as am I, thank you very much. May I ask why we are going in circles?” the moment Bilbo stops speaking, the whole Company stops in tandem. Uh-oh.

I feel more than see Thorin’s glare radiating from the front of the Company. “What did you just say Burglar?” he growls out. He turns his glare to Gandalf who looks up at the sky and comments before he could speak, “Hmm, the rain has stopped, I propose that we take a short break, the ponies need a short rest.”

“What is your game, wizard? Why have you brought us to these woods?” Thorin looks around us, gripping the hilt of his sword. His gaze brings me to a mind of mentally scouting out the scenery of thick brambles and shrubs and a heavy tree canopy; it is very creppy and I can now feel the ominous air that surrounds us. What the heck? Where are we? The Company 

“We are, my dear, in the northernmost part of The Old Forest. We are not going in circles Bilbo,” he says omnisciently, “we are merely seeing an illusion, as you well know Old Man Willow resides in this forest, his anger and hate blinds him to those who are innocent. He was once said to be an Ent but is now a Huorn, a different race, a sentient tree spirit. Huorns are ancient and long brooding, some unfortunately are rotten to the core, and very few remain.”

He then goes off to see some rando he absolutely needs to speak with, my guess is old Tom Bombadil. We are now without a wizard for backup, or as Nori muttered, “Mahal’s balls.” Beautiful.

A low moaning sounded in the wind, the creepy wind that just appeared out of nowhere causing the dwarves to take up arms and go into battle mode. They slowly got off the ponies and tethered them to some stray branches. Getting into a protective formation they huddled us fragile kids together.

I let out a squeak when I felt something brush against my shoulder. Oh no, I am not going to die in a manky old forest not even a whole day into the quest! Fuck that noise! I am not going to be the one who dies 3 minutes into Supernatural, I refuse!

Rummaging in my pockets my fingers find my pocket-knife. I know it will do absolutely no damage except blind someone or give a papercut, but a girl’s gotta try. On my right side I see Bilbo just a freaked out as me, just as I was going to whisper assurances something disturbs the brush behind us. As one, the dwarves walk forward all eyes and ears alert and ready to kick ass.

The bush shakes once more, then again. A low keening sounds from inside it. Bofur prods it with his mattock and a low growl is released. 

“If I’m not mistaken, I don’t think bushes are they growling type,” I whisper to Ori, whose hands are ready to release a round stone of whupass on the bush. Thorin gives the signal for Bofur to prod at it, which in my opinion is stupid but necessary. When the prodding commenced a small snuffle is heard followed by a pained whine, my crappy maternal instincts kicked in and before you could say ‘Mines of Moria’ I dove in like a supermom and grabbed the poor thing and hid it underneath my jacket before the dwarves could kill it.

The dwarves were understandably unhappy and so was Bilbo, even Gandalf could have smacked me with his staff.

“Miss Edgewater,” Thorin bite off harshly, “do not under any circumstances do that again, I will not have you endanger my men and the burglar with you reckless antics. Do I make myself clear?” Gripping my arm tightly, I nod and a small growl emitted from underneath my jacket, causing Thorin’s face to tighten in confusion. Before he could question it Bilbo made his entrance. Poor Thorin, always being interrupted. 

“Aria! What in Arda were you thinking?!? It could have been a Barrow-wight!! Or an orc o-o-or even a warg!!” he shrieked loud enough for even Oin to cringe. 

“I’m sorry, but-OWW!! This thing just nipped me!!” Flapping my injured hand around, I spot a thick swipe of blood on it, black blood...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my lovely squiggles! I am working on chapter 12 now, I recently adopted a new pup I found abandoned in the snow ( i know, what kind of a-hole does a crap thing like that?), she's about a 4 weeks old named Rogue and she has taken up most of my time, between walks, feedings, pet pads, and taking care of my other rescue Bagel I am a bit busy. Finals week has passed and I'm working on 12 like mad. Bear with me and comment whatever you think should happen in the upcoming chapters, i just might add it! Lots of love and see you soon!


	12. Tis But a Scratch

“If I’m not mistaken, I don’t think bushes are the growling type,” I whisper to Ori, whose slingshot is set to release a pebble of whup-ass on the bush.

Thorin gives the signal for Bofur to prod at it, which in my opinion is stupid but necessary. When the prodding commences a small snuffle is heard, then followed by a pained whine. My neglected maternal instincts kicked in and before you could say ‘Mines of Moria!!’ I dove in like a supermom and grabbed the poor thing stuffing it underneath my jacket before the dwarves could kill it.  
\--------------------  
The dwarves were understandably unhappy, so was Bilbo, and even Gandalf looked ready to smack me with his staff.

“Miss Edgewater,” Thorin said with a clenched jaw, “Do not under any circumstances do that again, I will not have you endanger my men and the burglar with you reckless antics! Do I make myself clear?” Gripping my arms tightly around the bundle, I nod. Just then a small growl emits from underneath my jacket, causing Thorin’s face to tighten in confusion. Before he could question it Bilbo made his entrance. Poor Thorin, he’s always being interrupted. 

“Aria!! What in Arda were you thinking?!? It could have been a Barrow-wight!! Or an orc or,” he gestures wildly, “even a warg!!” he shrieks loud enough for even Oin, Oin!, to cringe. 

“I’m sorry,” I begin, “but- OWW!! This THING just nipped me!!” Shaking my barely injured hand, I see a blot of blood on it, black blood. 

 

Before you all start saying, “Oh my looooord!! I KNEW she was an Orc wearing a girl-skin!!” Hang on for a few more sentences.

 

Hello.

I’m dead now. 

Give my journal to Bilbo. Give my sketchbook and Sharpies to Ori. Give my pocket microscope to Oin. Give my craisins to Bombur. Spread my ashes around the Carrock. Give the Bardlings my eternal love. 

Scratch that, I’m alive…for now. Although…I…might just have possibly saved a baby orc or warg pup’s life…well…it does has a horrid stench and I feel some matted fur…so the warg, most definitely. 

I recall orcs being ugly but not furry-footed ugly, no offense Bilbo, especially when four massive are paws trying to get a firm footing on my ribs. Oh dear, that is going to bruise. I’m like a peach. I’m so gonna die before Rivendell.

\---------------------  
Thorin whips his head around so fast that hair flutters across his broad shoulders in a Loreàl worthy arc.

“What is that under your coat?!?”

My immediate reaction is to drop what I’m holding, then I remember it’s just a little guy, the warg pup not Thorin. 

“Umm…*cough*…my stomach?” I say weakly, sadly I begin choking on my spit when I failed to fake a cough. I stop walking towards the ponies and veer off to a nearby tree to hack out my lungs. 

He glances at the blood dripping off the tip of my finger. His stormy gaze locks onto mine, instantly turning to ice. Uh oh, his bullshit detector just broke. In two quick strides he rips away my arms (not literally) and tugs open my coat (excuse you sir, I am a lady) and grabs the vulnerable pup by the scruff. 

I admit that it’s as adorable as it is ugly. Its jaw is bigger than its head, it has a hump-like neck, and looks to be around one to two months old.

The wargs from the films are usually shades of brown, grey, the occasional black, and the extremely rare white. But this one looks to be blue. Clumps of visible fur are similar to that of a blue heeler dog. Various hues of greys, whites, and blacks are scattered on its coat.

“Dwalin!”

As fast as lightening his second in command marches up, he’s gripping his axes much tighter than before, knuckles growing white. Dwalin’s hand reaches out to seize the warg from Thorin’s grip.

“Dispose of this filth quietly. We do not need anymore surprises in these accursed woods,” with barely a backwards glance he strides off towards the ponies, shadowed by the Company.

A small gasp escapes from Bilbo, snapping me out of an “Oh my Gondor!” moment.

A short hop later, I am left dangling from Dwalin’s upper left arm like a bad pickup line while the warg pup looks on helplessly and lets out a pitiful whimper. I cry out, “Mister Dwalin! You CAN’T hurt it! It’s an innocent life! I-I’ll take care of it and feed it and make sure it doesn’t bother anybody!” I plead shamelessly. Dwalin tries to shrug me off, so instead I latch onto his back hanging onto his neck.

I can barely hear his reply through the blood pounding in my ears, never in my adult life have I ever jumped on a grown man, in this case dwarf. He’s roughly the same height as me give or take an inch, but his arms are as big as my legs. The only human contact I’ve had was with Sean and the little old biddy at the corner store that fancies herself my adopted granny. I don’t count the Cannibal, which was a traumatic experience.

“Gwet offth!! Ya madth lassie!” Dwalin’s heated words are barely intelligible. All I know is that I’m not letting go for the life of me. But life has other plans in store for me as I am flung off of Dwalin and land face first into the dirt. As he begins to stalks off further away, I turn to Gandalf and plead my case with the famous puppy eyed look I learned from the tiny hobbit tots. 

“Gandalf!! Please!! I’ll do anything! It’s just an innocent animal. It’s even wounded! It’s not fair to hurt it.” I start to cry and a feel a few tears fall; my chest and throat tighten, and ice cold panic floods through my veins. I look from Gandalf’s sorrowful eyes to Dwalin’s disappearing back, and with a sigh Gandalf straightens up and a light briefly gleams in his grey gaze. 

“Master Dwalin! Wait a moment if you please! I’d like for Miss Aria to care for the warg pup. If it is amicable it will stay, if not I know of someone who can manage it. There is no need for its termination.” He draws out the word with mild disgust.

From my place on the ground I see Dwalin stop and look towards Thorin who in turn clenches his jaw, nodding reluctantly to avoid a rift with a much-needed wizard. Thorin glares down at me from his pony. I let out a sniffle and pick myself up off of the ground with as much dignity as I can muster, heading for Dwalin.

“What do you intend to do with this filthy mutt if I hand it over? Keep it? As a pet?” he says mockingly over his shoulder, with a dark gaze and a stern brow he warns, “This thing will sooner turn on you than protect you. I’ve seen and fought its kind, it’s best to be rid of it now.” 

As he grudgingly turns towards us I clench my fists and in one shaky breathe I utter, “ I’ll take it. I can train it and I’ll show you that it can be loyal,” I take a deep breath to calm my squeezing heart, looking to Bilbo who has been shifting from foot to foot deciding whether or not to come to my defense. I remember his telling of the Fell Winter. With his soft heart and dark past, I understand his hesitation. 

Before Dwalin can respond, Gandalf interjects, “A warg pup without its mother is defenseless, by the looks of it, she is close to a month old. She has yet to cut all of her teeth. As such, it is completely harmless, especially with its injured leg.”

With a twinkle in his eyes he continues, “Besides a pup can sense when others of its kind are nearby, if trained right she can be a warning beacon of sorts.”

I look closer at the growling pup trying to wiggle her way out of Dwalin’s grip. Oh. Out of the corner of my eye I see the Company murmur quietly and throw not so subtle glances toward his majesty from atop their saddles. Thorin’s fuming face betrays his ire and displeasure for obeying the bidding of a human at the urging of a meddlesome wizard. With a deep exhale and a sharp, pointed glance to Gandalf, he nods firmly to Dwalin to release the pup. 

Grudgingly Dwalin drops the pup with a huff and stomps towards the Company muttering something along the lines of “if it comes near me I’ll end and use its fur to clean my axes”. 

Hands tight on the reins Thorin tells the Company the plan to head North towards Bree, since we got off track by diverting South through the Old Forest. Though by the looks of Gandalf’s pack, Tom Bombadil has been quite generous.

 

With a sigh Bilbo and I climb into our saddles ready for the next adventure. The wriggling pup, which has no idea how close to dying it was, starts to lick its blood off of my hand. With its tongue hanging out and its head trying to pry its way out of my jacket, Thorin commands us to continue on our way outta this hell-hole. Basically that’s what he said, in so many words.


	13. Long Time, No Bree

Instead of writing _every_ little detail for _every_ little second that occurred on the road to Bree, I have a better idea.

 

I’ll skip to the highs and the lows.

 

Be warned that things will get a little hairy...see what I did there?

 

Yes, Kili, it was a pun. Yes, for Dwarrow, duh. What?!? _Exsqueeze me??_ NO!! My legs aren't that hairy! They have more hair than your face! Fine, I'm sorry Kili. Happy Bilbo? Now let me finish the story. Sheesh, parents, ya know?

 

Also note: Potholes are the spawn of Hades. End note.

 

* * *

**What is a Name?**

 

As much as I would _love_ to say that after leaving the Old Forest that the Company and I got along famously, so much that we came up with a name for the pup, that even _Thorin_ , the shade master, got in on the name game, and that Bilbo was an absolute _hit_ with the crew. As much as I'd love to say _such things_ , I can't, because that would be a lie, and that would make me a liar. I can’t have that.

 

What I _can_ say is that once we left the creepy woods there was, without a doubt, _many_ a suspecting glare thrown our way _. It’s not like we’re dangerous or anything_. Can you smell the sarcasm? By 'our' I mean lil wargy and I, and going by those looks one would think that she is going to Cujo-out by ripping their throats open, spraying blood everywhere.

 

Perhaps that is slightly true, as she does not enjoy the ‘crazy-eyed-dwarf’ vibe. I can feel little rumbly growls vibrating from her thin chest, oh Hades, what did I get myself into?

 

You know that feeling? Where you buy someone a present that you yourself like and after they open it you think, _‘I should have kept it and gotten them a tub of five kinds of popcorn’_? You do? Great.

 

Now you know how it feels to low-key hate yourself for making rash decisions and being a good person. I’m a mess and this pup’s going to end up eating someone.

 

Being the young, inexperienced, and good-looking people that Fili, Kili, Ori, and I are, we ride in the back of the group. With the bright sun shining, dust flying around, and horsehair tickling our noses we find ourselves only a few miles from Bree. I got to tell you guys, when watching the LOTR movies the roads look empty and show nothing but landscapes, Jackson and his team hide the lies!!!

 

There are potholes everywhere! EVERYWHERE!! Especially on busy roads, such as the one to Bree, you think they’d put those Arda taxes to good use. We’re lucky the ponies are surefooted, because I know how rugged people handle tragic injuries that big animals can get. It rhymes with bread and bun.

 

No, they don’t open a bakery to raise funds for a veterinarian, they kill them.

 

 _Back to the plot Aria_. _Where was I?_ Oh…

To be honest, Ori and the younger Durins look prepared to play fetch, judging by the gleam in their eyes they've already thought of names for the little furball.

 

“Okay, what is it? You two are up to something and Ori looks ready to jump ship,” I give them all the squinty eye.

 

Twin looks of innocence and one of nervous confusion are thrown my way.

 

“Whatever do you mean, Miss Aria?” said the blonde one.

 

“We’re not up to anything,” Kili chimed in, giving _me_ puppy-dog eyes. I turn to the weak link.

 

“Wh-what a lovely shade of blue the sky is, I must record this,” Ori says avoiding my eyes, scrunching up his lavender mittens.

 

Giving Cash a little nudge with my shoe, he clip clops closer the dwarves in front of me. “I can read minds, I know you three are up to something. So spit it out, what names have you come up with?”

 

“Finally! I thought you’d never ask us,” pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment with splotches of ink, Kili clears his throat to read off the list. “I’ll start with mine since I thought of the list first: Petal, because her fur looks like petals of violets, daisies, blackberry leaves. Masul, because it was luck that she’s alive.”

 

“That-that’s actually really good Kili, I’m impressed and so is she,” I prop the pup further up my arm, while Kili gives a graceful smirk, “I know.”

 

Grabbing the list from his brother’s hands, Fili coughs to get our attention, “I had three names but _someone’s_ big thumb smeared the ink,” Kili let’s out an indignant squawk, “so here are my two names: Tourmaline, Mali for short because her nose is pink, and Galena, because she’s grey.”

 

Giving Fili a grin and a with a little pip from the warg, we are both in approval of his names.

 

Ori quietly says his chosen names so his brothers won’t overhear, “Olivine or Amber, because her eyes are yellow hued.”

 

“Kili, Fili, Ori--those are really great names! I like Mali, oooh and Petal!! Olivine has some ‘umph’! What does ‘masil’... ‘musle’… ‘masul’-hey I got it!-mean?” My brow’s still furrowed from trying to sound out the name, not expecting three pairs of hands trying to shush me.

 

I slap away the hands, “What are you three doing? Trying to knock me off the pony?!?” Cash neighs in agreement.

 

Kili shushes me, leaning in towards my ear, he whispers, “Not so loud! The others will hear,” all three dwarves look around without a hint of subtlety, “officially we dwarves aren’t supposed to speak or tell outsiders _anything_ about our language, not even what it’s called.” Fili and Ori nod in tandem.

 

Scrunching up my nose, I shift the pup closer to me, “ You mean Khuzdul?”

 

Triple looks of horror are aimed in my direction. Fili, being the oldest of the three, demands how I know.

 

Knowing I can’t lie, because I’m not a liar I tell them the truth.

 

“Umm…I read about it, in a book about it,” avoiding eye-contact as I smoothly steer Cash away from the Khuzdul police and trot next to a dusty, travel weary Bilbo, who gladly welcomed my company.

 

* * *

 

**Bree-dom!!**

 

Arriving to Bree was…anticlimactic, to say the least.

 

Being a person of color _and_ a female had some residents of Bree bewildered and unsettled. The feeling of being watched was very creepy and disturbing, I can only describe it as going into a high-end store and having the staff watch you. Like “is my poor showing? Or is it just the color of my skin?” A total ‘Pretty Woman’ moment.

 

Some of you might even say, “Do people really do that?” To which I would reply, “Yes, they do”.

 

From looking at the dwarves I’d wager that they’re used to suspicious looks and ignore them like season pros. Not something someone or a group of someones should be used to, ever. Prejudice is not a good look on anyone, comprendes?

 

We’re riding to the stables in a single file as to not run over pedestrians. A knack that the dwarves have down, whereas I am puttering around avoiding potholes and scandalized men. “It’s like they’ve never seen a woman wearing pants,” I mutter under my breath.

 

“I reckon they haven’t, Miss,” I hear Bofur say in front of me. I totally forgot about the good hearing dwarves have. Oh my glob! That means they probably heard the guys and I talking!! I do a facepalm, through my fingers I see Bofur turn and give me a wink before trotting off inside the stables.

 ------------

“I mean can you believe that an overnight stable costs two gold coins!!! Unbelievable!” I lament to Bilbo who sighs and gives me an “are you serious?” look.

 

“Well, you can’t blame them. Cash did bite the stablehand’s err hand, perhaps it is a handling fee?” Bilbo suggested with a snort, I shrug my shoulders with a “humpf”.

 

“Very funny, already starting with the dad jokes.” I laugh. Shaking his head, he lets out a happy chuckle and glances in the direction of the large building to our right.

 

Carrying our luggage up to the Prancing Pony Inn has me a little nervous. Being able to see it a few decades in the future gives me the heebie-jeebies. Even with its sketchy clientele and somewhat empty atmosphere it has during the midday.

 

“Chin up, Miss Aria. We still have time to shop for the journey, you might like that,” Kili said, shouldering my bag with ease, taking it off of the floor where I dropped it during my déjà vu moment.

 

“Because I’m a woman?” I ask teasingly, while he splutters on his way past the steps.

 

Fili chuckles to my left, walking in step with the three of us, “She is joking, brother. Best keep in mind, as much as you can, that all females are _not_ the same. Take mother for example, she is both a warrior and one of the most elegant dwarrowdams in all of Arda. But cross her more than once she’ll thump you into next year.” Giving Kili a slap on the back he strides towards Thorin to the innkeeper’s desk.

 

“He is right Kili, females are one of the most formidable forces in the world,” Bilbo clears his throat, “Now Aria, I will see about our accommodations.” With a short sniff he walks off before Thorin can oversee our “burdensome existence”. At least this world’s version of Bilbo isn’t that blind to his faults.

 

Finding Kili blushing to his roots, I speak in a soft voice, “Nevertheless, I’d like to shop around. I need to get a few things for Petal and I. She isn’t old enough to hunt for herself yet, so I’m going to need a bow and few knives.” We walk past the haggling Company towards the stairwell.

 

He snaps his head up and gives me a radiant and beaming smile, dimples included. “Petal? A bow? Really?” His face glows in excitement.

 

“Sure, why not, I need to defend myself without chopping of my bits. Plus she’s adorable, so should she be named. I was thinking something along the line of Petal Galena Olive Edgewater.” Looking at the sleeping lump in my jacket, zipped up and snug as a bug in a rug.

 

A grinning Kili is an adorable Kili. “I like it, a bit long, but it suits her.” He sets my bag onto a chair by the old stairway, after a quick pet to the tuff of fur sticking out.

 

Five minutes later Bilbo nimbly steps around a few Men and a couple of hardy Hobbits holding a beaten up iron key. As we make our way to our room, I catch Thorin looking our way. I’m not 100% certain but I am 100% guessing that it was a look of confusion/exasperation/concern with a hint of something I’m not familiar with.

 

* * *

 

**Getting Caught With My Feels Down**

 

 As you can see by the title, I have been exposed, in ways no one wants to be exposed. Let’s begin by our trip to the sort of after-afternoon market. More like the evening market.

 

“Fili, Kili, Ori! Keep up! Bilbo and I made a list, so we gotta go, chop chop! Skadoosh!” I shout behind me to the trailing dwarves.

 

“Miss Aria—,” Ori starts before I interrupt him.

 

“Another thing, please refer to me as Aria, no more ‘Miss’ stuff. I know it’s a term for propriety and whatnot but it’s odd. Aria is fine,” I say while scanning the pathways for the market.

 

I should mention that even though I can speak to and understand the inhabitants of this land, I cannot for the life of me read or write the Common Tongue. Go figure. Which is why Bilbo gave Fili the list and not me

 

“Aria we need to go left and then right at the bakery,” Fili speaks as he smoothly steers me away from the oncoming foot traffic. Who woulda thunk that traffic in Arda coincides with traffic flow common outside of the States? I didn’t.

 

In a few moments we all come upon the marketplace. This thing is packed more than hipsters at a Cochella festival.

 

Surrounded by different shaped buildings inspired by the Men and hobbits that live here, the wooden stalls and canvas tents are lined up in rows upon rows of merchants selling their wares. Laughter, haggling, and shouting ring in the plaza of grass and cobblestones.

 

Lanterns hang upon rope tied to the posts shining brightly like fireflies in the growing darkness, children run amok giggling and chasing each other in the fading sunlight, and smells of spiced meats, burning incense, ales, and fresh breads fill the dewy air.

 

All of these observations overwhelm my senses. I’ve never felt more out of place and at home than I’ve ever been. I’ve never felt more crowded or alone than now. At this point, I feel tears prick my eyes and my nose get runny. Gross. My chest feels tighter and my throat feels drier and burns more than the Sahara desert. I make a run for a small changing area I see, it’s tied against a tent selling clothing.

 

Feeling the anxious and concerned looks the boys are sending me, I shout back shakily, “I’m fine, I just need more pants.” This earns me a few judge-y huffs from the nearest bystanders. I make my way through the burgundy flaps, pulling them closed with shaking fists. I forcefully sit down on the stool and cover my ears with my balled up hands.

 

“Don’t cry. Stop it. Stop crying, crying is for babies.” I whisper to myself, squeezing my eyes shut in an effort to cease the flow of tears. I can hear my heartbeat thump throughout my body and feel my nails cut through my palms. I take a few deep breaths and begin the chant my mother taught me to do whenever I’d need to calm down. In case it made my father angrier to hear me cry.

 

“ _Fili, Kili, Dori, Nori, Ori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Gloin, Oin, Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin. Fili, Kili, Dori, Nori, Ori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Gloin, Oin, Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin. Fili, Kili, Dori, Nori, Ori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Gloin, Oin, Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin. Fili, Kili, Dori, Nori, Ori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Gloin, Oin, Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin. Fili, Kili, Dori, Nori, Ori, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Gloin, Oin, Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin..._ ” By the last chant, my breathing has slowed and the tightness in my chest has loosened enough for me to take in a deep, shuddering breath. Opening my hands, I wince at the marks left and wipe the blood off on my dirty shirt.

 

Sniffling only once I stand up and peek through the flaps to see startled brown, blue, and green eyes. With a yelp I fall back and hit the stool. Tanned, strong, and broad hands pull apart the flaps and I scramble to stand up. The sun had completely set and I see both Ori and Fili’s arms full of the things Bilbo and I listed, plus a little more that they’d thought we need. _How long was I in there?_

 

“You-you were taking a while so Fili and I thought we’d get your supplies. Kili stood guard. Bree may have Hobbits but it is not entirely safe to be alone at night.” Ori speaks after an awkward silence.

 

I gaze at Kili through my lashes, who is staring at me with a puzzled look on his face, “You were say our names, _all_ of our names. Like you’ve said them a hundred times before. Why?” he questions with a heavy dose of suspicion, his eyes narrowing. At this, Fili gives me a stony look. Ori looks surprised, like a deer in the headlights.

 

 _Should I tell them or lie?_ I ask myself. A soothing voice answers, calming my racing mind.

 

_If you cannot trust those you would protect, then who?_

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
